Wolf Maiden
by Pimpernel Princess
Summary: Isabelle is a girl with a wolfish temper. Trestan is a man barely surviving a family curse. When they meet in an abandoned castle, how can the Beauty of love cast out the Beasts inside?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** I own everything except for the basic archetype of the story and the idea of making ladies' shoes out of glass. Review and I will post more. If you love it, tell me why, if you hate it tell me why. I know there is a lot of my writing to fix... Enjoy the brattiness (now that is an offical word!!!) of Isabelle! If you want to read more, then please review!

Wolf-Maiden

Chapter 1

Isabelle had slept late that morning, curled in her bed which stood near the fireplace in one of the back rooms. Her parents had berated her for delaying their breakfast, which had put her into a dark mood. When Isabelle was going to pull out her embroidery, her mother had asked her to bring a pot of soup to one of the ailing widows in the village. Isabelle Fernette stomped down the path to the village, determined to be finished with the errand her mother sentenced her to. Why wasn't Lady Fernette doing it herself? She had more than enough time and help from the servants, or could have sent her smaller brother Antoine to do this.

Isabelle Fernette lived in the manor at the top of the hill overlooking the village. She was the eldest daughter of Lord and Lady Fernette, who had been childless for many years. They doted on Isabelle and her younger siblings, Antoine and Marie. Isabelle had not only inherited her slight build from her father, but also his chestnut brown hair and fiery temper. Isabelle had the delicate, pale face of her mother, her bright blue eyes, and her sense of elegance and aristocracy. Isabelle's nose was straight and her complexion fairly clear. She had the best of everything life had to offer and this often went to her head.

"Why did _mama_ have to send me," she muttered, slipping on a stone with an irate grunt. Isabelle kicked the offending rock into the weeds that lined the narrow path. The little trail went in switchbacks from one side to the other of the hill on which the Fernette's manor stood. After a hearty walk, Isabelle arrived at the village.

The houses nearest the hill were the best, with neatly thatched roofs, shuttered windows and smartly painted doors. They belonged to the craftsmen who worked in the village and a few gentlemen farmers with land nearby. Well-dressed people bustled through the streets, all pausing from their business to nod to Isabelle as she strode by. Some young girls were sitting on the doorstop of a house playing with their wooden dolls. The boys were all inside the schoolmaster's house being educated whether they wanted to be or not. As Isabelle came to the end of the main street, the tidy houses descended into shacks in a haphazard arrangement that defied orderly streets. Some boys rushed by her as they chased the neighborhood strays. Few people were outside for most of the poorer citizens worked in the fields during the day. Isabelle paced determinedly down the streets according to her mother's directions.

When Isabelle found the correct shack, she rapped on the splintered door. After a moment, the door opened to reveal a girl not much younger than Isabelle. The girl's sunken, glassy eyes dropped to gaze at the floor when she realized who was calling. The girl's long, tangled hair was half-tumbling out of her worn brown cap which clashed with her faded blue overdress and grey chemise.

"Thank you for coming, _Madame_," she said hoarsely. "Mama is very sick."

Isabelle entered the hut, squinting in the dim light. There was a pile of blankets on which laid a pallid woman who, Isabelle guessed, was near the age of thirty. The woman was very plain, but her despairing eyes told a million simple tales of the little tragedies that mold or break a soul. Five children huddled around their mother, the older ones comforting the toddlers.

"I brought some soup," Isabelle said plainly as she tried not to breath in the putrid odors of the hut. The eldest girl took the pot and set it on the rough table that stood in one corner.

"We thank you," the girl said, expressionless.

"I shall see," Isabelle began with as kindly as she was able, "If my mother can spare a little time tomorrow to come down and see you."

"_Merci_," the girl replied, as Isabelle walked out of the door. "May you be blessed with good health, _Madame_." The girl was staring at the ornate hem of Isabelle's dress with obvious envy. A cold wind blew between the huts, causing the girl to shiver. Before she knew what she was doing, Isabelle shrugged her thick cloak off of her shoulders and shoved it into the girl's hands.

"_Madame_," she said, stricken, "What are you doing?"

"Take it," Isabelle commanded, "Do not lie to me about desiring this. It is yours."

"_Madame_, why, thank you," she said, reverently stroking the fabric with the tip of one finger.

"You are welcome," Isabelle said coldly. "Good day." She hastily passed through the village and to the trail which led to the manor. She was so relieved to be away from the sickness and poverty that even the harsh wind had become a comfort. Isabelle longed to be back in her warm home knitting herself thick stockings or, at the worst, patching the farmhands' shirts. At home, she would be among her equals and able to forget about the poor. Why had Isabelle given away her cloak like that? Isabelle grumbled as she was assaulted by the cold.

Half-way up the hill ahead of her, Isabelle spotted an old, haggard woman pushing a cart. Isabelle groaned. Perhaps she could move past the old woman when the path widened as it turned to switch back across the steep rise. Isabelle rushed along the trail which was cut into the earth. It seemed that the closer the girl came to the old woman, the slower the hag moved. When Isabelle was directly behind her, the woman stopped, panting. She had on a long, brown dress, tied at the waist with a cord, and a grimy red kerchief. The wagon that she pushed was filled with turnips and onions as wrinkled as the hag's face.

"Step aside now, woman," Isabelle said archly, "so that I may pass."

"What was that?" The hag asked, gesturing to her ear.

"Move aside," Isabelle raised her voice, exasperated. "Let me pass."

"I am rather deaf," the woman said with effort.

"Step out of my way," Isabelle cried. "I have no time to wait for you to stump along like a demented troll. Move!"

The old woman turned and stared at the girl with growing anger. Isabelle straightened to her full height to meet the hag's gaze. A moment passed before the old woman spoke.

"I was like you once…it cost me my happiness," she added bitterly.

"There is nothing wrong with the way that I am," Isabelle said icily. She edged along the path, trying to pass the old woman.

"You are wrong. You are as unkind as a wolf when it chooses its prey." Rage filled the hag's dark eyes. "Go, and change before it is too late for you to be saved." Fire flew from the hag's fingers and Isabelle collapsed onto her hands and knees in pain.

"Other people's lives matter as much as your own…" The hag's voice trailed off as she faded into a stupor.

***

"Have you, by chance," Lady Fernette asked her husband as he tramped out to the stables, "seen Isabelle?"

"_Non_, I have not," Lord Fernette replied, slapping a saddle on the back of the horse that the stable boy held.

"I sent her down into the village this morning with food for the widow and she has not yet returned."

"Worry not," Lord Fernette said from beneath his horse. He fastened the girth strap and stood up. "Isabelle is probably just sulking. I will be out hunting this afternoon and I shall keep an eye out for her. She will be back by tonight, my dear." Lord Fernette led his horse outside of the stable and sprang onto its back. Although he was in his late forties, he was surprisingly strong and agile. He waved a last time to his wife and headed off toward the village. As he rode down the path, he spotted a dark speck on the steep hillside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Not much here, I know, but please review! I even have a song in this chapter...as well as a mention of mushroom-shaped barns.

Chapter 2

Isabelle finally woke with a splitting headache. She tried to stand up, but could not straighten up enough to get her hands more than a few inches from the ground. She craned her neck down to look at where her hands should have been. Isabelle stared in disbelief when she saw the paws of a wolverine. She twitched her right paw; it was hers. Isabelle twisted around to see the rest of her. When she twisted around and saw her dog-like body and tail, she yelped in despair. Why had she been changed like this? Isabelle instantly regretted the harsh words she had spoken to the hag. She sprinted down the hill, crying, "Will not someone help me. This is not real. I am a girl, one of the descendants of the nobility of Gallia!" Her keen ears heard the hoof beats long before she saw the horse. When she identified the rider, she began to scream. "Father, 'tis me, Isabelle!" Lord Fernette pressed his horse onwards, holding his bow and drawing an arrow from his quiver.

Isabelle tried to reason with him. "Father, do not shoot. I am the wolf. Stop this!" He fired the arrow as Isabelle bounded away from him, over another hill and into the forest below. The horse and its rider raced after her. Perhaps becoming a wolf had given Isabelle a bit of the natural instincts and cunning of one; later, she hardly knew how she to dodge the arrows and maneuver in the brush and trails of the forest. Isabelle kept her nose low to the ground as she loped on, looking for sanctuary. She followed a track through the brambles, but could hear the rider near her still. Finally, Lord Fernette got off of his horse and was waiting, with notched arrow, for her to come out of the thicket.

Isabelle silently padded towards him, keeping within the shadows. "Father," she pleaded, "Do you not know me?"

Lord Fernette spotted Isabelle and let loose his arrow. Isabelle sobbed as she took off again, running under fallen logs and between bushes. Her father had remounted his horse and they were now parallel to her on the path. The chase went on for an eternity, until Isabelle spied a burrow to her left. Without a moment's hesitation, she dived inside.

She squeezed herself into the hole down a three-foot long tunnel and into a small open space under the ground. Loose dirt fell from the ceiling and walls when she brushed them, covering her pewter-colored fur.

Isabelle cowered, waiting for what seemed like hours. She heard her father's footsteps above and could vaguely smell that he was near. After several more eternal moments, she heard him mount his horse and ride away. Isabelle stayed hidden for a very long time after. What would she do with herself? If she had been human, she would have cried and found someone to help her, but as a wolf, what good would those things be? As a wolf, she realized, her crying came out as a howl or a whine. She thought back to her meeting with the old woman back on the path. Isabelle remembered that she had not been very kind, but had she deserved to become a wolf?

After sunset, Isabelle sneaked out of the burrow. She was half-expecting to see the old hag in the forest. "Why did you do this to me," she cried out to the trees. "I have learned much, may I be turned back…Please?" No one answered. Isabelle found a hidden spot near the roots of a tree, curled up, and went to sleep.

Isabelle woke the next morning, stretching and yawning in the chilly October air. She glanced around the forest, wondering where she was. Isabelle stood up on her feet and admired her lovely fingernails. "What? How did I become human again," Isabelle stammered, twisting around to see if she had lost her tail. "I have learned my lesson," she announced to the wood. Isabelle set off through the forest to her home, a little stiff from her night beneath the trees. The girl sang a short folk-song as she rushed home, grateful to hear the sound of her voice echoing back to her through the hills.

_Today is a day of perfect sunlight_

_Along the daffodils so fair_

_The breezes seem to run light_

_With never any care_

_Enjoy this day, you younger ones,_

_While it still is May_

_For tomorrow could be dark_

_For now, let us vivez! _

_Now stop and smell the flowers _

_And well avoid their thorns_

_For no foul encounter_

_Shall blemish this fine morn. _

Isabelle's stomach rumbled; she could not wait to get home to eat. Although taking the path up the hill from the village would be faster, Isabelle took the road up the opposite side of the hill. She wanted to avoid as many unhappy memories as possible. It was nearly midday before Isabelle had finished her long trek back to her home. For once, it was quiet and still.

"Hello," she called as she walked inside. The place was deserted, except for Jeanne, the old nursemaid, and Marie, Isabelle's three year old sister. They were sitting in the corner of the great hall that acted as the kitchen during the winter. Marie ran over to her sister and wrapped her arms around her.

"Oh, _Madame_ Isabelle," the old nurse gushed, "we have been so worried. Your parents are searching the village for you now. Look at the dirt on your hem. You look like you spent the evening in the woods…You must have warm clothes."

"_Merci_, Jeanne," Isabelle smiled, "It is good to see you too. The clothes can wait. Is there any food here? I am a little faint for want of it."

"Isabelle," Marie sniffed, "I am so happy that you came back."

Isabelle patted the toddler's light blonde curls fondly, saying, "Did you miss me, Marie?" Isabelle seated herself at the table that stretched the length of the hall and set Marie upon her lap. Jeanne brought over a plate of lukewarm porridge with honey and a slice of bread and cheese. Isabelle began to stuff herself with the best food she had ever eaten. When she was full, she hoisted Marie off of her lap and went the room they shared. Isabelle shook off her dark blue overdress and butter-toned shift and put on a white linen chemise and a sea green dress of wool. The dark overdress had a low, scooped neckline so the white embroidery that covered the chemise could be seen. Isabelle also put on a lavish russet cloak and fastened it with a cloak pin shaped like an arrow. Isabelle gracefully knelt as close to the fire as she could get without singing herself and tried to answer Jeanne's bevy of questions.

"Mistress," the older woman said, re-pinning Isabelle's luxurious brown hair, "Where were you that evening. Were you captured? Why were you in the woods? Where was your cloak? What had happened? Oh, we were worried sick about you."

"I went down to the village to deliver the soup like _mama_ asked," Isabelle began haltingly. "The people were so cold, and…I gave the girl my blue cloak. I went for a walk in the forest and got a little lost. I could not find my way back. This morning, I found the path and came home. I really do not know what happened…"

"Well, _cherie_," Jeanne said soothingly, "you are home now, and so you will remain."

Isabelle sighed, and waited for her parents to return. The fire and her cloak were as warm as the hottest day in summer, but they felt so wonderful after being outside in the chilly air. Isabelle nearly dozed off as she sat. Soon all the drowsy girl could see was white mist. Isabelle blinked. It was still there. "Jeanne," she said apprehensively, "why is the fire so smoky?" The white mist grew thicker until it was all that Isabelle could see. "Jeanne, what is happening to me?" She heard no reply. Her hands and feet began to twitch and grew smaller. Isabelle was forced down onto her hands and knees. After another minute, the mist faded. Isabelle was again a wolf.

"Mistress, are you alright?" Jeanne screamed, retreating with Marie to the corner and advanced again, brandishing a broom. "Out wolf, out!" She tried to herd the wolf to the door. Jeanne flung it open and cowered behind it.

"Jeanne," Isabelle padded over towards her, "'tis me, Isabelle."

"Out, wolf," Jeanne cried, smacking Isabelle on the muzzle with her broom. Isabelle ran outside, and kept running until she was among the friendly trees in the forest. She could not stay with her family half as a wolf, half as herself. Someone would mistake her for a wolf and kill her. She would never be able to explain her strange existence to her parents. Isabelle decided to go east, hoping she would find somewhere to live until she could lift her curse.

The wolf went up one of the nearby hills to take one last glance at her home. She looked back at the old, manor where her family had lived for generations, at the ramshackle village, at the fields, and at the mushroom-like barns where the laborers stored the harvest every year. All of these she left behind as she trotted away.

Isabelle walked far through the afternoon and evening. In the twilight, she found that she could see much better than she could when she was a human. Isabelle kept walking until she grew tired then lay beneath a tree, wishing that she was back in her home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** You're reading, now review. If you like it, tell me. If you don't tell me too. ;)

Chapter 3

The next morning, Isabelle woke as a girl again. As a human, she was ravenously hungry, but while a wolf, she hardly noticed that she had gone without supper. Isabelle searched the woods for food. She found a few nuts on the ground, cracked them between two rocks and ate them. Isabelle walked for days, in the morning as a girl, turning into a wolf at noon and walking until dark. As she went, she tried to look for somewhere devoid of humans where she could stay without being discovered and feared. Isabelle tried to catch squirrels in the woods, but she was not skilled enough at hunting to feed herself this way. Two days later, at the first town she came to, the girl ruefully traded three of the copper buttons on her overdress for two loaves of bread and five apples in a canvas sack. The townspeople looked upon this wonderer as disdainfully as she looked at them. They were suspicious of the pretty girl with fine clothes and no escort. Isabelle thought herself above the plain commoners and moved on again.

Five more days passed; the food she had bought was gone. Isabelle was weary of the wandering life. Her feet and heart ached, longing for a home. In the middle of the woods, the wolf crouched beneath the bushes. In the clearing before her a boy and an old man crouched by a fire. The old man wore a rough brown robe and the boy a grey tunic and pants. They were holding meat over a fire; the smell of which drifted temptingly beneath Isabelle's nose. The meat was all she could think about now. She waited. When the two were distracted, she bounded into the clearing. Isabelle snatched a hunk of meat out of their hands, darting away like the wind. The old man simply shook his head, while the boy ran after her, shouting.

When Isabelle had loped far enough away that she had no more fear of pursuit, she settled back on her haunches and devoured her stolen feast. It was blissful for Isabelle to be full of food again.

After walking a few more miles that day, Isabelle realized that she had been in a different land for some time. Here, the woods were thinner and valleys formed around the many small rivers that lined the earth. The land was much more level than where Isabelle had lived. The changes had come so gradually, that Isabelle had hardly noticed them until she was in another region. The girl wondered where she was; she had no map, but was unable to read one even if she had. She decided to ask at the next village that she would come to.

By the next evening, the land had widened out onto a fairly broad plain with a large mound like a lump of porridge in the middle. The mound and some of the surrounding plain were covered in trees with a few orange and yellow leaves left on their branches. Nestled in the trees above the mound stood a small castle with a single tower. Isabelle was intrigued by the manor; it looked abandoned, but if a noble family still lived there, she could possibly beg a meal and a place to stay for the night from them.

Isabelle wearily climbed the hill. The closer she came to the castle, she more she realized that the castle had been abandoned. No smoke curled from the chimneys. The path Isabelle was on had been overgrown during the summer. Now, fallen leaves lay upon it mostly undisturbed. The few places that they had been rustled, the wolf guessed, were from deer and over small animals. She dismissed the thought as she arrived in front of the front doors.

The doors were as tall as the height of two grown men and as wide as five. They were of an ancient but sturdy wood, but bore the scars of their age with majesty. Isabelle opened the door by pushing it inwards with both of her paws. The wolf stepped inside a cavernous main hall.

The lofty ceiling was supported by curved wooden beams. In the corners opposite her stood two marble staircases, leading to the second story. A balcony extended over the silent hall. The room was bare, except for a large grandfather clock which stood beneath the balcony. The floor was made of dark tan flagstones, with footprints faint in the dust. Isabelle was intrigued by the silent castle. It looked uninhabited, but if the footprints belonged to another human, the wolf could leave.

Isabelle padded to one of the grand staircases and loped up it. She paced the empty halls half an hour, and then came back down to the main level. As far as she could tell, the place was deserted. Isabelle went back outside to try to find something to eat, but came back inside unsuccessful. She curled up in a corner of the great hall and did her best to get a little sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Here's a nice long chapter. This is where it starts to get good. Let me know what you think of Trestan, and if Isabelle begins to show any Mary-Sue-like tendencies.

Chapter 4

Around midnight, Isabelle awoke. The door to the great hall was pushed open. A tall man with a torch in one hand entered. His other hand held a heavy-looking pack with a sheepskin strapped to it. Although the man was in his early twenties, he looked as if he had seen much hardship and loneliness. He had tousled brown hair and a strong, slightly stocky build. His eyes, as silvery as the stars in the sky behind him, scanned the room as he walked toward Isabelle's place in the shadows.

Isabelle pressed herself against the wall, trying to keep herself hidden in the shadows. She barely breathed as he passed her. She crept along the wall, trying to escape before he noticed her presence.

The man whirled around, spotting her. Isabelle cowered in fear, eyeing the sword the man carried at his belt. Never turning his back to her, the man strode to the door and threw it open.

"Out, wolf," he said gruffly. There was a certain sympathy behind his words.

Isabelle stood, petrified. She had been deceiving herself with her hopes of being able to stay. The man walked in a wide arc, now putting Isabelle between the door and himself. After setting his pack at his feet, the man rested his hand on his sword.

"Go on, out," he said determinedly. He spoke with a slight accent that Isabelle could not place, but not the same type of accent that the people of this region used. He advanced a few steps, trying to intimidate her. Soon they were only ten feet apart. The man drew his sword. The clock beneath the balcony began to strike midnight. The man slid his sword back into its sheath. As the white mist descended on Isabelle she heard the man swear. A moment later, the mist was gone. Whilst the last echo of the bell faded, he girl Isabelle was now facing a bear.

"Man, come back," Isabelle screamed, searching the room for him. "_Aidez-moi_! Help, please, come quickly! If you want me to leave, I shall."

"You do not have to leave," the man's voice rang out through the hall. "Unless, of course you wish to."

Isabelle looked around for the source of his voice. He spoke again.

"You do not have to be afraid," he added good-humoredly. "I am not going to eat you."

"What are you…Wait," Isabelle took a deep breath. "Are you the bear?"

"Are you the wolf," he asked wryly, scrutinizing her as if to size her up.

"_Oui_," Isabelle replied. The girl had a moment of epiphany. Perhaps, she could find out how to break her spell from him. Maybe he would allow her to stay here for the night.

The bear shrugged his burly shoulders. "Have you, by any chance, offended an old woman lately?"

"Why yes," Isabelle said suspiciously, "how did you know?"

"Sarcastic guess," the bear replied. They stood facing each other in an awkward silence. The bear closed the great entrance door and retrieved his pack. He began to head down the nearest hallway. "Going to stand there all night?" he shot back over his shoulder.

Isabelle clambered after him. They walked through a labyrinth of rooms, doors, and corridors and finally arrived at an imposing kitchen. A fireplace as large enough to roast a whole side of beef took up one of the walls. Several smaller ovens and hearths were built into the walls. There were shelves and hooks for the dishes and pans, but most of these were strangely empty. Two sturdy tables stood in the room, lined with benches. A few windows covered by wooden slats were near the raised ceiling.

As Isabelle examined the room, the bear banked the ailing fire in one of the small fireplaces. He disappeared into one of the rooms adjacent to the kitchen for a moment, returning with a string of sausages and three eggs. An iron skillet hung on a hook within easy reach of the fireplace. When they were nearly finished, he dug in his pack and pulled out a loaf of bread. Wordlessly, he handed it to Isabelle along with a kitchen knife. She cut two slices and set them on the earthenware plates that the bear had brought from a shelf near the fireplace. After the bear ladled them each a cup of water, they both sat at the table.

As her host began to eat, Isabelle sat quietly, staring at her plate. She could not believe that he had not driven her away or had reproached her for trespassing. He had even given her the first hot meal that she had eaten in days. Why was he being so kind to her? The bear broke her reverie.

"Something wrong," he asked politely between mouthfuls.

"_Non_," she said hesitantly.

"Going to let the food grow cold, then?"

Isabelle shook her head and tucked into her plate. The sausage was warm and spicy, the perfect complement to the eggs and bread. Isabelle ate until she could hold no more. While Isabelle finished eating, he had banked up the fire and unstrapped the sheepskin from his pack.

"Done then?" He asked when she had completed her meal.

Isabelle nodded, then said nervously "How is it that I can understand you when you are a bear?"

"We are under similar spells," the bear said, slinging the sheepskin over his shoulder and grabbing a torch. He started down the labyrinth of rooms and halls again. Isabelle followed, wondering where he was headed. In the second-story hallway, he opened a door. He peered inside a room and moved to the next one. After doing this a few times, he had found what he had wanted. The bear handed Isabelle the torch and the sheepskin. She heard a few quiet footsteps retreat into the darkness. She was alone.

She entered the room, holding the torch high. Fine wood moldings lined the joints between the walls and the ceiling and floors. The peeling walls were painted a dusty turquoise with gold swirls. The floor was of the same stone that made up the castle. The room was not very large, but it accomplished its purpose. There was a large wardrobe in one corner, but it had been tipped on its side. A draft from the window made Isabelle's torch flicker. Beneath the window was a writing desk with three legs. A high four-poster bed dominated the other corner of the room.

Isabelle flung the sheepskin onto the bed. After blowing out the torch, she took a running jump and managed to scramble onto the bed. She spread out the sheepskin, pulled her cloak around her and fell asleep more comfortable than she had been for eleven days.

Isabelle woke about mid-morning. The bed was so warm that, for a moment, the girl thought that she was back at the Fernette manor. Isabelle half-fell out of the bed and wandered down to the kitchen. There was a lukewarm pot of porridge sitting on the table. The bear was nowhere near. If the porridge had not been there, Isabelle would have sworn that he had been a dream. She shoveled the grey, tasteless stuff into her mouth. When she was finished, she half-heartedly scrubbed the pot with some of the water in a bucket nearby.

The pantry door stood ajar. She anxiously glanced around the room, hoping that she was not doing anything wrong by looking inside. She entered. The bear had stocked the little room well. The shelves bore salt pork, smoked beef, ham, sausage and bacon. On the cool stone floor stood crates half-full of apples, turnips, and eggs. There were two large canisters of flour and salt. Half a dozen vials of seasonings and honey lined the uppermost shelves.

Isabelle tiptoed into the kitchen again, a little overwhelmed. Isabelle started. The bear was seated at the table, eyeing her amusedly. It seemed as if he had appeared out of nowhere. Isabelle had not heard him while she had been in the pantry, even though she had left its door open.

"Hungry?" he asked casually.

"No," she said, still startled. "Just curious."

"Do you like bacon?" He said, rising to leave.

"Well, yes," Isabelle answered cautiously.

"Good," the bear said, "Bacon's for lunch." He lumbered to the door.

"Where are you going?" Isabelle called after him. She felt so awkward standing in front of the hearth doing nothing. She had no inkling what she was supposed to do with herself. Isabelle was even at a loss about how to appear busy. When she explored, she felt as if she was intruding. She did not even know the bear's name. It was too early to make lunch, the only thing Isabelle could think of to do. There was already plenty of food; why should she bother to make more?

"Out to the yard," the bear said. Isabelle struggled to read his expression. Should she follow him, even just to appear like she was being useful? The bear guessed this, saying, "Come, if you wish."

Wrapping her maroon cloak around her, Isabelle departed after the bear. Once they were outside, he turned into a courtyard which had been between the manor and the stables. Some wood was stacked along part of one side of the yard. An axe was stuck into a chopping block waiting to cut more of the jumbled logs that lay nearby. One side of the yard was filled with walnuts, still in their greenish husks. They were laid out on the cobblestones, waiting for their outer shells to turn black and fall off.

"How long have you been here?" Isabelle asked, gazing at the nuts and the wood.

"Thirty-eight days," he replied shortly as he began to stack some of the cut logs.

"Do you own this castle?" The girl said. She wished that the bear was not so curt.

"No. When I realized that this place was empty, I asked some of the villagers about it. They all believed it was property of the ghosts by now—been abandoned for half a century. Said that if I could live here, I could have the place."

Isabelle nodded. Obviously, the bear did not want to talk. If he would really let her stay, the girl would become insane through boredom.

After an hour of watching the bear stack firewood, Isabelle went inside. It was almost noon. When she told him she would be in the kitchen, he merely grunted. Isabelle found a knife and hacked a few pieces of bacon off of the massive chunk of it in the pantry. The girl made a clumsy attempt at building up the fire and placed a skillet with bacon on an elaborate tripod which stood over the flames. Once the bacon was warm, Isabelle put some slices of bread onto the drippings to fry. She made her way out to the yard and told the bear that lunch was ready. By the time she was back in the kitchen the bread was a little black. She served it to the bear anyway.

"Thank you very much," the bear said, after his second helping. "Definitely an improvement over what I used to have."

"I burnt the bread," Isabelle replied defensively, caught off-guard by his gratefulness.

"It was hot," he shrugged. "That is enough. I am sorry about last night;" he said wryly. "I will not try to herd you out of the castle again."

"What is your name?" Isabelle said, a little indignantly.

"You may call me Trestan," he said quietly. After a moment of silence, he added, "Yours?"

"Isabelle Fernette," she said a little smugly.

"Good to finally meet you," he said. Isabelle could tell that he added this last bit mostly out of habit.

A loud bell chimed far away; its sound carried through the empty halls of the castle. As it struck, the familiar white mist appeared around the two. Once the bell had struck a dozen times, the white mist faded, leaving Isabelle as a wolf and Trestan as a man.

The first thing that Isabelle noticed once the mist dissipated was Trestan's grin. His dark grey eyes shone like clouds reflecting the sun. He had pale, even teeth and a straight nose. He was rough-shaven, the stubble brown against his cheeks.

_Even if he isn't talkative, at least he's handsome, _Isabelle thought, as she sat on her haunches. Even so, it was going to be a long, futile winter.

"Know your way about here yet?" Trestan said cheerfully.

"Not at all," Isabelle said. She barely knew where the kitchen was.

"Come then," he said, "I will give you the grand tour."

They went down the corridor that led from the kitchen to the great hall. The ticking of the great clock was the only sound, aside from their footsteps. Once they had crossed the room, Trestan opened one of the ornate doors for Isabelle. This room was nearly half the size of the immense great hall and twice as grandiose. Two thrones dominated the room from their dais. At one time they must have been plated with gold and studded with jewels, but only their wooden skeletons and burgundy velvet cushions remained. On the left stood the larger throne, but both had sun-shaped back-boards that were now bare.

On impulse, Isabelle ran up onto the dais and leapt into the smaller throne. By now, the cushion's stuffing had nearly disintegrated making it lumpy and uncomfortable; Isabelle barely noticed. She surveyed the room, imagining what it must have been like when barons and countesses had graced the scene. Now the room was half-dark and filled with gloomy dust. All types of furniture covered with dust-cloths stood in the room like cattle milling about at pasture. Isabelle glanced at Trestan who carefully pulled the cover off of a giant cabinet. There were all sorts of wooden drawers and cupboards on its front. Trestan immediately began to search through them.

"What are you doing?" she asked from her perch on the throne.

"Seeing if they left behind anything useful," he said intently. "If you want to help, go uncover more furniture."

Isabelle was taken aback by this. She was used to being the pampered pet of her family. Isabelle stepped off the dais, grabbed the first cloth she came to in her mouth, and yanked it off. After the billows of dust settled, a beautifully carved oak bench was revealed. Isabelle came to the next very oddly shaped form. Underneath this cloth was a polished wooden harp. Although a dozen of the strings had snapped, the rest of it was pristine. Isabelle admired it, unaware that Trestan had finished his examination of the cabinet.

"Do you play?" He said softly, standing behind her.

Isabelle started. She wheeled around, saying, "No." Trestan nodded, reluctantly ending the conversation.

"But," Isabelle added, "I wish I did. Are you at all musical?"

"I can carry a tune," he shrugged, "oh, and whistle."

"Whistle," Isabelle said, taken aback. "When would you whistle?"

"Keeping myself company. I cannot live a normal life because…of the way I am," Trestan broke for a moment, took a breath, then continued more lightly. "This is the first time I have stayed in one place for more than a month in the last two years."

"That must be terrible," Isabelle breathed, then stopped. She too was half-wolf, half-maiden. Would she spend her life like that, roving from place to place, with no company, no home? How would she be able to survive?

"Brighten up, now," Trestan said, as if he saw her thoughts. "Not so bad. 'Get used to the independence."

"Would you please speak in complete sentences," Isabelle snapped. She instantly regretted her words when she saw the shock on his face. A moment later he was smiling again; normal, but for the bitter set of his jaw.

"My goodness," he said with an apparent epiphany, "You are right. I have not had a real conversation for years…" As he began again, Isabelle believed that she was panic in his eyes, a fear deliberately hidden, but unveiled and un-mastered for a moment. "You're right, my time is running out. I've tried so hard not to forget, sometimes too hard. I must remember. I will redouble with everything that I have. Too many years, too many places, oh, what I would give…it all matters so much. Too much." Trestan swore under his breath, and then turned to Isabelle. "You probably think me to be a lunatic."

"_Non_," Isabelle said hesitantly, then added, "you just need to practice having decent conversations."

"How would I go about doing that?" He asked, one dark eyebrow raised.

"By talking," the wolf said brusquely.

"About what?" he asked openly.

"Cheese, the sea, the state of the weather, anything," Isabelle said, nonplussed by his careless attitude.

"Shall we move on to another great discovery, then," he said, leading the way to another piece of hidden furniture. When he whipped the cover off a little too violently, Isabelle began an uncontrollable fit of sneezing. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, while Isabelle tried to regain her composure. She ignored him as he began to scrutinize the waist-high chest of drawers he had unearthed. Looking in the top right drawer, he paused for a moment. He held up a yellowed handkerchief, edged with a ridiculous amount of lace. "This must have belonged to a lady."

"You do you know that," Isabelle challenged.

"No self-respecting man would ever carry about something so ridiculous," he replied with a sarcastic snort.

"I shall just have to take your word on that," the wolf rolled her eyes.

Trestan shrugged, moving on to the next drawer. The only other item in the drawer was a pair of delicate blue stockings with holes in the heels and toes.

"Are you going to use those?" Isabelle said with mock sincerity.

"I don't believe that they would fit on my tiny girlish feet," he said, "You can fetch these later. I will leave them here."

Isabelle nodded. They unearthed a half-finished painting of a woman embroidering; a very large, very plain vase; eight chairs; various end tables; a small marble statue of a boy whose hands had been broken off; and a cedar chest containing cloth.

"This is so lovely," Isabelle cooed, running her paw over the top piece of fabric. The delicate velvet was a dark navy blue. Isabelle would come the next morning to search through the rest of the fabrics. If she could find a needle and lots of thread, she would not have to die of boredom this winter. Isabelle went back over by Trestan. He was attempting to lift up the cabinet that he had first looked at. When it would not budge off of the ground, he began pacing in circles around it, muttering to himself.

"You will never be able to move that all by yourself," Isabelle broke his calculations.

He looked up, startled for a moment that she was there. "You are correct," Trestan said roguishly, "That is why you are going to help me."

"_Et alors_?" said Isabelle, personally affronted, "I will not do such tasks. I am definitely not fit for it, especially since a strong man like you cannot even lift it."

"I do not ask for you to lift it," he replied "Mind over matter. There are ways that a single man could move the world. You will understand when we begin to move it. That is, once we find a place to move it to."

"All of this is below me," Isabelle said dramatically, "Come, let us find some new place to explore."

They went through barren rooms until supper that night. When they had finished eating, they sat in silence for a quarter of an hour, until Isabelle went up to her room. She leapt upon her bed, curled up, and went to sleep, utterly perplexed about her new companion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:** I worked more on my editing for this chapter. I know that this story has lots of faults, but if you let me know what they are, then I will do my best to make amends in future chapters. Thanks to **Clar the Pirate** for the reviews! As always, this does belong to me, except for the glass slippers, and the basic storyline. Enjoy!

Chapter 5

The first thing that Isabelle did after waking that morning was to run down to the room with the thrones and open the chest that held the fabric that she and Trestan had discovered the day before. In her human form she could actually feel the fabrics and sew, instead of botching everything with her clumsy paws. The midnight blue velvet was luxuriously soft, but hardly long enough to make a garment from. The next piece was a sheet-like piece of butter-colored linen. Isabelle also found a length of white lace trim, a few balls of yarn and thread, toffee-hued felt, russet wool, the palest indigo taffeta, ruby jacquard, and much pea-green brocade. If only she could find a needle; a needle was the only the she would need. Oh, the fine dresses she could create. Isabelle was kept from this only by the want of a needle. With another wistful glance at each of the fabrics, she packed the trunk back up and went to her breakfast.

Trestan had already made himself a plate of eggs and bacon. Isabelle shuffled into the kitchen, made herself the same meal, and started a stew for lunch.

"Good morning," the bear said kindly, "What is disturbing you?"

"Nothing," Isabelle sighed drearily.

"You honestly do not expect me to believe that," he said with a little sarcasm.

Isabelle replied with a 'Humph!" as she stormily adjusted a stray curl. Her hair was well beyond shoulder length, and pinned up with the hairpins which Jeanne had so lovingly tucked into it so many days ago. "What are you going to do this morning," she finally condescended to ask him.

"Chopping more wood. You?"

"Nothing much. Lunch just has to simmer."

"I will make you a broom, if you would like," Trestan said, glancing insinuatingly at the ashes that were beginning to migrate from the fireplace to the kitchen floor.

Isabelle nodded. She would sweep and take out the ashes like a servant, but only because she was bored. She grudgingly found a rag to wrap around the handle while Trestan went out to the yard. After half an hour, he came back with a straight stick to which he had bound an armful of straw-like twigs. Isabelle reluctantly took it. Trestan began to leave, but stopped for a moment with a gentle "Thank you." Isabelle nodded in return and began to sweep first the kitchen floor, then the ashes in the fireplace. She swept the dirt down the hall and outside; making sure that the pile was not in the walk-way. The last thing that she wanted was for the dirt to be tracked back in.

Isabelle entered one of the rooms nearby. It was empty, except for a high wooden chair upholstered in a fuzzy felt fabric, similar to the chair in the painting Isabelle and Trestan had found the day before. Isabelle zealously searched for a needle; she had half a hope that one had been left behind while the woman had been sitting for her portrait. There was no needle on the floor. Defeated, Isabelle sank into the chair and instantly leapt up again; her rear had been pricked by a needle. She held it up, triumphant. She could survive without a thimble for now; a needle was enough.

Isabelle flew to the trunk and drew out the piece of blue velvet. Although it was not long enough to sew a full garment with, she could create the most charming short jacket to wear. Isabelle wondered what Trestan would say when she would show him her new jacket. Trestan. Isabelle had noticed that although he had a decent shirt, his trousers had more holes and patches than original fabric.

The girl reluctantly set down the velvet; her jacket could wait. Trestan needed new pants. She gathered the burgundy wool and carried it to the kitchen. After laying it out on the table, she wondered how she was going to make the pants the right size without Trestan knowing. Suddenly a plan came to her mind, but to do it, she would have to wait. Isabelle returned the wool to the chest and retrieved the linen instead. For now, she could stay busy making an apron for herself. She would stay much cleaner this way, and not have to do laundry quite so often. She cut out the outline of the apron she wanted by means of a large kitchen knife. Isabelle felt a rush of homesickness as she threaded her needle. She missed the bustle of Jeanne, her brother and sister, and her parents throughout the day. The solitude here was what Isabelle would know for the rest of her days, unless her curse would be broken.

That afternoon, Trestan told Isabelle to come with him to the throne room. When she asked why, he replied cryptically, "I need your help to do something." The wolf shrugged and followed. A dozen bark-less logs a few inches in diameter stood near the cabinet.

"What are you about to do?" Isabelle groaned.

"I will show you," the man said, already moving the logs into more suitable positions. Trestan placed a thick log near the side of the cabinet and put another on top, perpendicular to the first. "When I lift the cabinet," he commanded, "you must wedge the end of the top log under it."

"Fine," Isabelle said disdainfully, but she did it. Trestan strained to lift the bulky piece of furniture as Isabelle pushed her shoulder into the end of the log.

"Good," Trestan said, moving over to the end of the log not supporting the cabinet. "Now, when I stand on this end of the log, slide a log under the cabinet." Once Isabelle had rolled one of the logs into place, Trestan stood on the lever-like log, pushing the cabinet off of the ground. Isabelle put one of the logs under the cabinet, followed by three more. When half of the logs were underneath, Trestan pushed the opposite side of the cabinet, rolling it along with the logs as wheels.

"Clever," Isabelle observed grudgingly. "Where did you learn that?"

"Is that a complement?" Trestan asked wryly.

"I was only trying to make conversation," Isabelle said half haughty, half teasing.

"Thank you. I picked it up in Greece. An old man was trying to explain how the ancient slaves used to pull the galleys across the isthmus at Corinth. I loved Greece. Good food, good wine. Too bad they dislike bears as much as the rest of Europe," he added cynically. He kept the cabinet moving, although the effort was like rolling a boulder up the side of a mountain. Every so often, he would replace the front log, to keep the cabinet rolling smoothly.

"Is Greece the only place that you have journeyed to?" Isabelle said, wondering what the sunny Mediterranean country was like.

"No, I have gone up to Scanavia, then Oberland, Poland, oh, and Ruzia, but it was too cold, even with a fur coat. I long to go back to Iltia, but I cannot stay…Maybe this spring, I'll go back to Greece."

"Greece sounds wonderful," Isabelle added. She had heard stories about foreign, exotic lands, but it had never occurred to her that someone could travel to them. The only people who traveled were gypsies, ruffians, and the cursed. Maybe, if her curse did not let off, she could go to Greece to see the mountain of their gods and the seas where their boats had made their immortal journeys.

"It is," Trestan said crisply. By this time, he had moved the cabinet across the room and to one of the side doors. The wolf blocked it open as Trestan budged the cabinet through.

"Where are you to put that?" Isabelle said, concerned. Sweat was beginning to collect on the man's forehead.

"Over here," Trestan panted, nodding towards an out of the way corner. He finally manipulated it to the corner and then shoved it into place, kicking the logs out of the way as they rolled out from beneath the cabinet.

"Nice work," Isabelle said conclusively.

"Not bad, if I do say so myself," Trestan said, shaking out his arms.

"Do your best not to get a large head," Isabelle scolded teasingly.

"Please do not sound so worried," he said, with a slight smile, "I would like to look around more. You are welcome to come with."

"My thanks," she replied, "Let's go."

They walked down the corridor before them and turned into the first room they came to. The walls were painted a sage green on the top half with white wainscoting on the bottom, but the room was bare, except for a window with peeling gold trim. It looked out on a red cobblestone terrace between it and another wing of the castle. In the middle of the little plaza stood a fountain.

"I never knew there to be a fountain here," Isabelle said, jumping up on her back paws to gaze out the window.

"There is?" Trestan said in amusement, "I never really noticed it before."

"Let's go on, shall we?" Isabelle said, exiting the room and going further down the hall. The corridor widened into a showy gallery filled with statues draped in cobwebs and ancient paintings on the walls. One painting in particular caught Isabelle's eye. There was a fountain on a terrace exactly like the one Isabelle had seen outside. A wolf stood, lapping at the water in the fountain, unaware that it was being watched. A man stood hidden in the shadows of the trees nearby, an arrow nocked in the bow he was holding. He was of median height, with a sturdy build, but his face was hidden deep inside the hood of his green-grey cloak. Isabelle stared at the painting in horror. Trestan strode up beside her.

"What are you looking at?" he asked, his soft voice echoing the in the large gallery. Trestan wordlessly examined the painting, and then knelt, placing a comforting hand on Isabelle's shoulder. "I used to be like that when I saw paintings of bears too."

Isabelle pulled away, saying, "I don't want to look around here anymore." She dashed out into the throne room. Isabelle knew that it wasn't ladylike, but neither was being a wolf. The wolf in the painting didn't look anything remotely like Isabelle, but the intent gaze of the hunter brought back the memories of the first terrible day of her curse. Isabelle thought back to the terrible hours when she was hunted by her own father. How could Trestan understand that? How could he know what Isabelle had gone through?

"Please come back," Trestan said, sprinting after her. "Brooding on it will do no—" He tripped on the dust cloth where the cabinet had stood before they moved it. Isabelle coyly turned back to look at him. His leg had disappeared into the floor.

"Your leg!" Isabelle cried.

"I am fine," Trestan snorted. He laughed for a minute as Isabelle looked on, then finally extracted his foot from the hole. He crouched down and stuck his arm into the opening. "There is something down there," Trestan said. Isabelle slunk over to the throne and perched there, alternating between grooming herself and pretending not to notice him. Once he found what he had wanted, Trestan stood up, triumphant. He held up a small box, letting it catch the light. The box was made of bronze with a square topaz stone fitted into its lid. He opened it with a flip of his thumb and paused, transfixed.

"What is it?" Isabelle the wolf asked anxiously.

"You will have to come and see," Trestan said, holding the box out to her. Isabelle trotted over to him.

Two tiny glass slippers sat side by side in their tiny box. The glass caught the light like crystal, so the shoes did not need any other adornment. Their needle-like heels looked as if they would break. Trestan picked one up. It fit easily in the palm of his large hand.

"What are we going to do with them?" Trestan said flatly.

"Keep them," Isabelle shot back acidly, "Why? What was your suggestion?"

"Sell them and split the money," he said, examining one with the air of a mercenary. "No one will buy them in the village; no, better to wait until the next city, or until a merchant comes by."

"Sell them? No!" Isabelle said, stomping her paw. Unfortunately, this was more effective as a human girl. "At least let me have the slippers until spring…and you can keep the box."

"If you insist," Trestan sighed, setting the slippers on the ground for her. Isabelle lowered her back paw over one, imagining herself wearing it. When her paw touched the glass, it felt pleasantly cool. After a moment, Isabelle tried to fit her other paw into the second slipper. The glass swelled and expanded to fit her paws. White mist descended, obscuring Trestan and the rest of the room. The last she saw, he was glancing at the floor bitterly. In another moment, the white mist dissipated. Isabelle held back her dress to admire her glass-slippered feet.

"I'm a girl again!" she squealed, "My curse has been broken. _Hourra!_ Now I can pack; I should get home before the snow begins to fly. Won't Mama and Papa and Jeanne be pleased? Oh, and Marie and Antoine, the little dears. How I've missed them," the girl paused, remembering Trestan. She began again, subdued, "Thank you for letting me stay, Trestan. You have been very kind, but I must get home. By now, they probably believe that I am captured, or…or dead, and, I could not bear to let them think that."

"Isabelle," Trestan's voice was soft, but full of darkness, "Take off the shoes."

Isabelle stared at him, stricken. "Why," she said, trembling.

"Just do it!" Trestan shouted, then lowered his voice again. "You may put the shoes back on, just take them off for a minute."

Isabelle did not know that was worse: Trestan shouting, or Trestan being calmly angry. She kicked off the shoes. The white mist appeared again; Isabelle was a wolf again. Tears formed in Isabelle's eyes; she had wanted to go home so much, now she would have to wait for something else to break her curse. How long would it be before she could go home?

"You may put the slippers back on now," Trestan said coldly. Isabelle did, and transformed back into a girl. "You have a choice before you. You may stay, or you may go. But be warned: if you leave, you will have to wear those glass slippers for the rest of your life." He turned and stalked out of the room.

Isabelle collapsed on to the floor; she sat and wept until it grew dark.

At last she rose. Isabelle wished that she could splash some water onto her face, but the only water close by was in the kitchen. Isabelle did not want to see the man who had crushed her dreams. She wished that she still believed her curse to be broken, or that she had found out herself instead of Trestan forcing the knowledge upon her. He had been such a brute about it. Isabelle ascended the nearest staircase and found her way to her room. She slept the dreamless sleep of the exhausted.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Thanks again to **Clar the Pirate** and **Zagato** for the reviews! If you see anything you think should be fixed, let me know... If you review, I'll give you more story more quickly!

Chapter 6

The clock struck twice, waking Isabelle. There was no way she could go back to sleep. Isabelle was hungry for the first time since she had arrived at the castle. She slipped out of her bed, wrapping her blanket around her. She would see if she could find something to eat down in the kitchen. Isabelle opened the door; cringing when its hinges creaked. Isabelle almost stepped on something. A cup of water and a plate with cold bacon, cheese, and a slice of bread had been set on the floor in the hallway. Isabelle set them on the writing desk in her room and ate in the darkness.

The next morning, Isabelle woke early and carried her empty plate down to the kitchen. Trestan had given her the last of the bread the night before, so Isabelle started a fire under the smallest oven and had some breakfast. When it had died down, she put some flour, water, eggs and salt in a bowl, mixed them, and set them inside to cook. Isabelle sewed her apron while the bread cooked, then pulled the loaves out of the oven when they were lightly browned.

Trestan came in at lunchtime and wordlessly took a seat at the table. "Bread smells good," he said hesitantly breaking the silence.

"_Merci_," she said simply. She handed him a hearty, warm slice of it, along with some warm ham, coated with melted cheese.

After the meal was over, Trestan spoke. "I am sorry that I was so…harsh with you yesterday. I know you miss your home."

"I was being foolish," Isabelle said, bitterly shaking her head. "I cannot go back; not like this, even with the shoes. My curse must be completely broken first, but I have no idea how to rid myself of it."

"You never were told how to break it?" Trestan said strangely. The gleam in his eyes was first incredulous, then hopeful, and finally disappointed.

"_Non_," she said mournfully, "I was nearly unconscious when I thought that the witch said something, but like as not, I imagined it."

"Did you remember even one word?" Trestan asked eagerly.

"Not a single one" Isabelle shook her head, clearing the plates and scrubbing them with a cloth. She dried them and put them away as Trestan built up the fire.

"I have not seen much of the upper story of the western wing yet," Isabelle remarked.

"I haven't been up there much myself," Trestan said, gesturing to the door. "Let's go."

As they walked, Isabelle asked, "If you have been here close on forty days, then why did you not explore the whole castle?"

"I scanned a few of the rooms quickly, to make sure that no one was there, but mostly, I have been getting wood for the fire, and food. Finding walnuts takes much time," the bear said.

This part of the castle was filled with corridors and doorways. Isabelle stood, glancing out a slit-like glass window at the hill below, for a moment and almost lost Trestan. They opened and shut doors, mostly finding bare rooms, and once, a garderobe. Trestan peered into one room, then stepped inside, dazzled. This room was stuffed with books. They were placed on shelves, on tables, in stacks on the carpeted floor. One even sat open on a pedestal. Trestan reverently ran his paws along the cracked spines, breathing in the musty, knowing smell of long-neglected books. Trestan seized a tattered volume and flipped it open. A single page flitted to the floor, amid the dust that settled there.

"Are you considering that book's worth as fuel for the fire?" Isabelle said lightly.

"Never burn these books," Trestan said in the same dark tones he had used the day before. "You have the slippers, so these are mine." He replaced the book he was holding on the shelf and grasped another. "Virgil's _Aneid_," the man said after a long pause. The books made him relax; here he was on familiar turf. "Have you ever heard of it?"

"No," Isabelle said uneasily, "I have not."

"There are so many great titles here," Trestan said, earnestly cradling a tiny book between his paws. "A translation of _The Iliad_. This is far too rare in the north. Ah! Hundreds of men would leap at the chance to read this, but I have it. Do you do much reading," Trestan said over his shoulder.

"No," Isabelle said icily, "I never learned."

"Oh," Trestan faltered, "I apologize."

"It is unimportant," she said bitterly, quoting the words of her father. "Women should not be taught manly skills. They may think themselves too important and then shoo away rich suitors."

The girl stopped abruptly, realizing that she had just imitated her father. When Marie and Antoine were small she had imitated him behind his back to make them laugh. Isabelle had also said far too much. She barely knew Trestan, yet was complaining about a fact which no one knew but herself. Trestan froze in shock for a moment, then began to laugh. Isabelle stared at him, appalled.

"Go ahead then, laugh," Isabelle snarled. She believed that he was laughing at the idea of her marrying a rich man. "You don't have to worry about who your parents force you to be married to. Men get to read and travel and are not constantly told what to do."

"Isabelle," Trestan said gently, "That isn't true. Your father should have—"

"What do you know about my father," Isabelle snapped. "It is none of your concern what he should do."

Trestan stepped back. "Would you like for me to teach you," he said, chastened.

"_Merci non_," Isabelle said curtly.

"Suit yourself," Trestan said, shrugging his enormous, hairy shoulders. "Why don't we go on; I'd like to see more of this gloomy old place."

Isabelle retreated back into the hallway, Trestan reluctantly following. Isabelle opened the first door she reached. Inside was a closet with four broken shelves. One shelf held a tattered scrap of paper and a crooked spindle. Isabelle grabbed the spindle eagerly, then remembered that she had nothing to spin. She could eventually buy some raw wool to spin; even a crooked spindle was better than none. For now, she would keep it. She disdainfully passed the scrap of paper to Trestan.

"There," she said, "Now you can tell me what the symbols on the paper say."

"Since you wish it," Trestan said. He read the slip for a moment. "It says, 'To the esteemed Baron Debussy.

"_I write to thank you for your hospitality I enjoyed the previous week. As always, the company of you, your wife, and your sons and daughters was thoroughly enjoyed. _

_Ever your servant, Lord Rasque of Goble Hill_."

"Reading is useful indeed," Isabelle observed wryly.

"Well, this shows that there once was a Lord Rasque who lived here. And this place is called Goble Hill. Both good things to know."

They looked around that part of the castle that day. Isabelle finally felt that she was learning her way around. After supper, Trestan left and retrieved the book _The Iliad_, or whatever it was called, and sat on the hearth, reading with his back to the fire. Isabelle sat at the table putting tiny stitches in the apron she was making. After a quarter of an hour, Isabelle noticed something that smelled like burning wool.

"Do you smell something odd?" Isabelle said, eyeing the fireplace.

"Yes, now that you mention it," Trestan said, glancing on either side of himself at the hearth stones. A moment later, he leapt up, swearing, and trying to swat where he had been sitting. Holding his book aloft, Trestan shouted, "Douse it; I'm on fire!"

Trying not to collapse with laughter, Isabelle stumbled to the bucket and flung the water it contained onto Trestan's backside. His pants had a small burn hole there now. Isabelle flung herself on a chair, still laughing hysterically. Trestan tried to look dignified as he laid his book on the table and stood otherwise drenched.

"What is so funny?" he asked her sheepishly. "It could happen to anyone."

"Tomorrow I will patch your pants…unless you want to do it yourself," Isabelle said with a smirk.

"You had better do it," Trestan laughed awkwardly.

"Goodnight," Isabelle yawned. "Those pants will take so much work to patch, that I should get some rest."

"Sleep well," Trestan called after her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** I'm so glad that you like this. The dounut of your choice to anyone who reviews and fruit juice to anyone who specualtes! Thanks to **Ihatejacob1**, **stars13**, and **3DG** for their kindess in reviews, author alerts, favoriting, etc! I updated just for you... ;)

Chapter 7

The next morning, Isabelle woke, realizing that she had kicked off her glass slippers in her sleep. It did not matter because she was a girl in the mornings, but she would have to remember to keep her slippers close. She slipped her feet into them and made her way to the kitchen.

After eating the breakfast that Trestan had made, Isabelle swept the fireplace and the floor. Before lunch, she finished her apron and wore it proudly. It was a plain, sleeveless overdress that had a V-shaped neckline and a skirt that went to Isabelle's knees. Isabelle had used the edge of the fabric for her bottom hem, but she could always finish it later.

A bit before noon the bear-Trestan came in for lunch, ate, and, when the clock struck, turned back into a man. "I can patch those pants now," Isabelle offered.

"Oh, that's right," Trestan said, embarrassed. He stood, wondering what to do next.

"Go out into the hall, and hand them to me," Isabelle directed. "I'll stay in the kitchen until they're done. It will take a while, considering the abuse they've taken."

Trestan nodded and did as he was told. As soon as he left the room, Isabelle grabbed the red fabric from the shelf where she had hidden it the night before and laid it out on the table. Staying out of sight, Trestan wordlessly handed his pants in through the door.

Smiling a bit at his embarrassment, Isabelle called, "Go on now. These will be done, just give me a little time. Don't act so ashamed," she could not resist teasing him, "They are only pants." Isabelle stretched the pants out on top of the red wool and traced them with a stick of charcoal: messy but effective. She could cut them out later when Trestan wasn't around. Isabelle set her needle and thread on the table and set to work.

After Trestan got his pants back, he went and worked in the yard until the sun was close to setting. Isabelle brought him an apple halfway through the afternoon and gingerly helped him stack some of the smaller pieces of wood. She came back inside and set to work cutting out the pieces for a pair of pants with a primitive set of shears she had found in a cabinet. Then she began to form the pant legs. By the time supper came, she had finished the first leg and was halfway through the second. Trestan walked in and Isabelle froze, needle in hand.

"You can't get enough of sewing, can you?" he observed.

"No," Isabelle said, folding the pants and quickly stashing them away. "I enjoy it very much."

"It is a good skill. You'll be able to make use of it," Trestan remarked.

Isabelle shrugged. "Hungry for soup?"

"Of course," He replied. After their meal, they cleaned the dishes and put them away. Trestan sat near the fire, but not as close as the night before. Isabelle sat at the table again.

"Not sewing tonight," he asked, breaking the silence.

"_Non_, er," Isabelle stalled, searching for an excuse, "There's not enough light now. Perhaps it's silly of me."

"It's not. I probably shouldn't read by the firelight, but there's not much time during the day, and I can't get too close to the fireplace," Trestan said lightly.

"No," Isabelle replied with a smirk, "That is probably not a very good idea."

"What I would give for…" he let his thought trail off. He looked at the floor as if ashamed.

"What?" Isabelle said, genuinely curious.

"Candles," Trestan sighed, "It would be so nice to have light no matter where I was. Torches are too much of a mess to be practical. But candles, they would be so convenient. You know, they are the only things that I have not come across when searching the castle." He looked so serious, that Isabelle had to smile.

"Really," she laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" Trestan said, one eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"There, you sounded almost human," Isabelle said with satisfaction.

"I thank you for the complement," Trestan smiled. It was a little smile, but it lit up his face like a candle in a far away window.

"Why did you not buy candles in the village?" Isabelle said a moment later. She feared that if she let the conversation lag for too long, they would not continue it at all.

"They fear them. I asked for them, but was immediately hushed. They think candles are only used in the Devil's work. Instead, they use torches or the occasional clay pot with a wick and oil. No one was willing to speak about it, so I bought my food and left."

"What would they fear from a candle? Do they understand how much easier their lives would be if they used them?" Isabelle looked at Trestan, hoping for an answer.

"People fear anything that they do not understand. Like men who become beasts." Trestan's voice had a hard edge to it.

"How did you become cursed?" Isabelle said abruptly, searching for the answer in his handsome, open face.

He did not answer. Isabelle sat waiting for nearly a quarter of an hour in silence. She dared not ask again. She had hoped that he would tell her and give her a clue, or an answer, for the breaking of her own curse. In a small voice, she began her story, telling about her life at home, her family. She skimmed over the part where she gave her cloak to the girl in the village. She did not know why she included it. Trestan pensively shifted to rest his head on his hand. When she came to the part where she had been rude to the hag, she could not meet his gaze and stared beside him into the fire. When she finished her tale, she waited for him to speak. Again minutes passed. Fighting sleep, Isabelle got up to depart for her room. She was half way to the door when Trestan spoke.

"My father was the third son in his family; he never expected to be the heir to his father's holdings. About when the second son had become a cleric, the eldest died in battle. When my father was made heir, however, he was forced to make a choice. He could marry the common girl he loved, or he could wed a wealthy lady to further the holdings of his family. This lady was wealthy and beautiful, but cruel and spoke sharply to anyone who she deemed below her. My father chose to wed the poorer girl because she was kind and gracious. In a rage, the lady set a curse on his firstborn. To become bear half of the day and the other half a man. Because of that, I am who I have become…"

Isabelle had stopped to listen. When Trestan was talking, sleep could wait, no matter how tired she became.

"My father laughed at the curse until I was born. He could not bear to look at me as a bear." He smiled slightly at his pun, but the smile was chased away by irony. "Few people saw me during the mornings—I had my own chambers and garden in which to roam. In the afternoons I had my lessons with the other boys. I hardly knew that I was abnormal until I was ten or twelve. I overheard two of the servants talking about how I would go roaming off by myself at night and come back at noon. When I was nearly fourteen, I was found out…Another boy followed me to my sanctuary and had seen me there. He told everyone. My father was disgraced; I ran away. I could not stay there any longer. I cannot stay in one place too long or someone will find me out and try to hunt me, so I have been traveling ever since."

"How is your curse to be broken?" Isabelle said groggily.

"You must be exhausted," Trestan exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "I apologize for keeping you up so late."

"No," Isabelle yawned, "I am fine. Tell me," she demanded.

"Goodnight, Isabelle," Trestan said, a note of finality in his voice.

Isabelle stumbled up to her room, but felt wide-awake once she got there. Trestan had been a nobleman and had run away. This mirrored Isabelle's life. Isabelle wondered how her curse was to be broken. She wanted Trestan to tell her more about his, but maybe their curses were not the same. Trestan was the victim of his father's decision, while Isabelle had brought her curse upon herself. Maybe they weren't so different. Perhaps they had been brought here to break each other's curse. Isabelle drifted off to sleep, believing there was hope.

Isabelle's life fell gradually into a routine. In the mornings, she would cook, clean a little and, when Trestan was not nearby, sew his new pants. In the afternoons, she and Trestan would shell walnuts, chop more wood, or explore more of the castle's strange little rooms and passageways. When an odd, occasional mood struck her, Isabelle would kick off her glass slippers, become a wolf, and run along the deer trails that lined the hills. When those times came, Isabelle ran so fast that she was the wind. Maybe if she ran fast enough, she would shed her curse like the trees had shed their leaves. When she became weary from running, she would find the slippers and transform into a girl once more. The girl would enter the castle again, and pretend that there was not something missing in her life.

Trestan puzzled Isabelle. One day, he looked as if he was ready to leave the castle, but on the next, he would be as content with his life as any man. Isabelle hated the times when she thought that he would leave. Her biggest fear was that he would, and she would be all alone. Whenever she questioned him about his curse, he abruptly changed the subject. Soon Isabelle realized that if she stopped asking about it, he would tell her when he was ready—he would not give in to her little fits of temper. Over the next three weeks, Trestan had changed. He and Isabelle had gone from being complete strangers to becoming friends. Trestan had been surprised and delighted with the pants she had made for him.

In return, Trestan taught her how to find the great bear constellation in the night sky, and how to play a game called chess. They had found a mostly complete set of wooden chessmen and Trestan made a game board from a piece of wood that had lain in the rubbish room. Isabelle realized that when Trestan was a bear he was less talkative, but as a man, he was more sure of himself.

Every so often, Isabelle noticed wildness and even fear reflected in the man's eyes. These were the times when Trestan became sarcastic and withdrawn. Sometimes Isabelle was cynical right back at him, but she did not want to spoil the only friendship she had. As hard as it was for her to be grudgingly patient, Isabelle hoped that she would understand him in time.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Thanks to all who have reviewed. Please continue to. This is one of my favorite chapters. PLEASE REVIEW!

Chapter 8

Isabelle kicked the table leg, and then wished she hadn't. The girl was sewing a short jacket from the dark blue velvet she had found in the chest. The body of the jacket fit perfectly, but Isabelle had just realized that she had cut out one of the sleeves wrong. Now her foot hurt and she had to figure out how to fix her jacket.

Isabelle's stomach growled; she had also forgotten to cook supper. She slammed some chopped onions and sausage on a heavy skillet and stuck it in the midst of the fire. It would cook quickly. Isabelle dug some bread out of the pantry; it was dry and a little crusty, but still edible. Isabelle folded her sewing up and set it on one of the shelves. It needed a good dusting.

"No day but today," she muttered to herself as she pulled out a rag and wiped down the shelves. When Isabelle was finished, she swept the floor. When she went to sweep the ashes in the fireplace, she discovered that the sausage was burnt. She crashed the pan onto the table near the bread. Isabelle swept the ashes out of the fireplace and to the kitchen door with a vengeance. She met Trestan there.

"I'll take care of those," the man offered, reaching for the broom.

"Don't bother," she snapped. "The food is ready."

The two sat and ate their dismal meal; Trestan was heroically uncomplaining, although he did not eat with his usual gusto. When they were finished, Isabelle tipped the remains of the meal into the fire. Isabelle was usually never one to waste food, but she was feeling so terrible that she just wanted to throw it away.

"The weather matches your mood," Trestan remarked casually.

Isabelle simply stopped and stared at him. "What?"

"It's snowing," the man said. "You didn't notice?"

Isabelle raced to the nearest window in the hallway. She could not see the fountain in the plaza or the other wing of the castle. There was nothing to see but swirling, white snow. Isabelle's eyes filled with tears; she wiped them away before Trestan could see them. A small part of Isabelle had hoped that she could return home before winter came. It was a foolish hope, but it still hurt to be denied it. She shuffled back into the kitchen.

"Well?" Isabelle snipped. Trestan shrugged as if waiting for her to say something.

"Why does everything always seem to go wrong at once?" Isabelle said through clenched teeth. She wished that she could throw a tantrum and get everything that she wanted, or at least something that she wanted. Life would be so much better if it worked that way.

"I guess it is just the way that the world has to work," Trestan shrugged, ignoring Isabelle's grumpiness. He stacked the plates on the shelf next to the half-finished jacket. A spool of thread fell to the floor. He picked it up, spinning the spool in his hand to put the thread back onto it. Isabelle held her hand out, waiting for him to hand it to her.

"You can do it faster, can't you?" The man asked wryly.

Isabelle didn't reply. Instead she wrapped the thread deftly onto the spool and set it on the shelf.

"_Brava_," he laughed. When Isabelle did not join in, he stopped abruptly. "What is bothering you?" Trestan asked bluntly.

"I want to be home," Isabelle blurted. "I miss mama, and papa, and Marie, and Antoine, and Jeanne. Even if there is nothing but them to come home to, no suitors or offers for my hand after having disappeared for several months. I want to have a future instead of this stupid curse. I simply want things to be all right…" She wiped her eyes, then continued intensely. "Oh, I don't know! I feel so useless here. I hate being stuck in traction, just waiting for something to happen."

Trestan stared into the fire for a long time, deep in thought. Isabelle was embarrassed that she had let down her guard and let him know how homesick she truly felt. Why did what Trestan thought matter to her so much? She sighed; at least it had felt good to vent her feelings.

The man spoke at last. "Isabelle, you are not useless; you have just been bored. But I have been so glad to have you here. Without another person to talk to, I would have gone insane here, by myself all winter. Now, for the first time in my life, I am not alone. I am very grateful that you are here."

"Thank you, Trestan," Isabelle said, attempting a weak smile. "I am happy that you are here too."

The next morning, Isabelle was in a much better mood. Trestan piled more firewood near the hearth to replenish their supply as Isabelle made bread. "Trestan," she asked, elbow deep in the dough, "What day is it?"

"December eighteenth," The bear replied immediately. "Why do you ask?"

"I wondered how long it has been since I arrived here," she said simply.

"Twenty-eight days," Trestan said, then added, not meeting her eyes, "if I remember right."

"Plus eleven, since I left home makes…" Isabelle nearly proceeded with the calculation, and then paused, looking at the bear in surprise. "Why do you keep such an accurate count of the days?"

Trestan turned his back to her to stack the wood more neatly. "No reason," he muttered.

"December eighteenth," Isabelle repeated mournfully to herself. "What about Christmas?"

"We can have a Christmas, if you would like," Trestan offered.

"It will be wonderful," Isabelle beamed, "_Merci_."

That day, Trestan brought firewood inside from its place in the snowy courtyard and stacked it in the corridor that led to the kitchen. This created puddles that Isabelle would have to pick through to avoid soaking her glass slippered feet. Isabelle tied to mop them up, but as soon as she would clean up one puddle, another was formed. She scolded Trestan, but it did no good. Eventually, she gave up the task until the next day. Isabelle wondered what she should do for Trestan for Christmas. He had treated her with nothing but kindness; how could she repay him? Isabelle wandered in the rooms near where she had found the needle, searching for an answer.

Isabelle entered a room with walls of wooden paneling; there was a slight crack between the edges of two panels. The girl examined it more closely to see that one of the panels was a door. Isabelle swung it open and entered a corridor, treading past the cobwebs that lined its walls. There was a bend in the tunnel. Once beyond it, Isabelle could not see anything in the darkness. The girl retreated to the turn in the tunnel and kicked the slippers off of her feet.

Now as a wolf, her vision in the dark was much better. Isabelle continued on. After a little way, there was a cramped staircase that spiraled upwards. The wolf bounded up them. At the top, there was a door; Isabelle could not turn the knob without hands. She peevishly retrieved her slippers and put them on to become a human once more. Back again, the girl wrenched the door handle and finally opened it.

Isabelle stepped into the room with awe, all irritation forgotten. The opposite wall held three stained glass windows; the one in the center depicting a red rose on a golden background and the ones on either side green with diagonal black bars. Even better were the two candelabras that stood, one on each side of the windows. They were as tall as Isabelle and held twenty long wax candles each. Isabelle remembered how Trestan had mentioned wanting candles. The girl's first inclination was to give them to him now, but Isabelle decided to wait for Christmas. Trestan would be so pleased.

Isabelle scanned the rest of the room. On both sides of the door was a fresco, one side with a horse and a fox, the opposite with a hart and badger. They were painted in the same style as the picture of the wolf drinking at the fountain that she had found weeks before. The ceiling was also painted azure with blushing clouds dancing across it. The whole room was beautiful; Isabelle decided to show it to Trestan—after she had cleaned it. Isabelle fetched her broom, a bucket of water, and some rags from the kitchen and set to work.

The days until Christmas passed quickly. When Trestan had disappeared two days before Christmas to bring back a pheasant for their holiday dinner, Isabelle had gotten much cleaning done and started a embroidering a belt for him for a present. Isabelle cooked like the world was about to end; braided raisin bread, kidney pie, stuffed turnips, fried onions shaped like blossoms, egg soup, honey biscuits, and provincial pudding.

Once, when the girl's back was turned, Trestan snuck a walnut pastry off of the plate where they were cooling. Isabelle turned back around to face him. She was about to pick up the plate and take it to the pantry, when she realized one was missing.

Isabelle intended to scold him thoroughly. "Trestan…" she paused. When Marie or Antoine misbehaved, she always scolded them with their full names. Isabelle realized that she did not know last, or even middle, name. "Trestan," she scolded, even though there was still a smile in her eyes, "if you eat them all now, we shall have none left for Christmas."

"Now that is a dreadful prospect," Trestan said roguishly.

"Trestan," Isabelle shook her head, grinning.

"Conradi," he said with a respectful nod. The bear lumbered out of the room, hiding in his paw another biscuit.

Isabelle smiled and began to count her biscuits; the name Conradi was familiar, although she could not remember where it was from. Isabelle huffed as she noticed another biscuit missing, but she knew that Trestan Conradi would never admit to it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** I hope that everyone enjoys this chapter. Please review. Even a "Good job" or an "I hate it" is better than nothing. Any tips? Ideas? Speculations? Thanks to In-Christ Billios, Baroness Orc, and Ihatejacob1 for their reviews. Again, I DO own the characters and everything but the basic archetype and the glass slippers. Questions, comments, concerns? Please review or PM me! Also, feel free to check out my profile and other stories. Reviewers get random bits of trivia about the story!!!

Chapter 9

Christmas morning was clear and bright. Isabelle woke a little later then she had intended. Humming hymns, she bustled down to the kitchen to finish the feast she had prepared. Trestan wasn't there, but he had built a huge fire in the fireplace. Isabelle smiled; he was always remembering the details that she sometimes missed. She could not wait to show him the candles she had found, but that could wait until after lunch. Isabelle warmed some bacon, sausage, and the apple turnovers, waiting for Trestan. Finally he came, bearing a slightly snowy pine branch and singing about the _Noel_. He had a fine, rich voice. Seeing Isabelle by the fire, the bear paused for a moment. Isabelle picked up the melody where he had left it, singing about the angels that appeared to the shepherds from on high. When the song was finished, Isabelle received the pine branch form him and hung it from one of the iron hooks above the mantle.

"_Joyeux Noel_, Trestan Conradi," Isabelle smiled, "You may eat the honey biscuits now."

"Merry Christmas to you also," the bear replied. "As for the biscuits, it is good to finally be able to eat them without fear of banishment from the kitchen, or of flogging with that wooden spoon of yours."

For a little while after breakfast, Trestan helped Isabelle complete the final preparations for the midday meal, and then disappeared for an hour before noon. Isabelle wanted to run quickly to the room she had cleaned and double-check that the candles were still there, but instead stayed to make sure that nothing burned. She doubted that they would eat a meal so big and fine until summer came; Isabelle would not burn their feast the way she had the sausages that Trestan had so valiantly eaten.

The girl absently fingered the belt she had sewn for him; it was of silk as grey as Trestan's eyes and patterned with snowdrops and roses she had embroidered. After the excitement of Christmas, how would they spend the rest of the winter? Late December, January, February—how would they spend those months until Isabelle could go home? The roads could be open as early as March or as late as May.

A wave of homesickness enveloped Isabelle; she wished for her home, the place where she could be happy, instead of the dreadful waiting and uncertainty that came with her curse. Being home would not solve all of her problems, Isabelle realized. She had merely been living there until her father would marry her off. There had been a few suitors already, though with none she had been particularly impressed. Suddenly, a small part of her was glad to be free, but the rest of her despaired. Cursed with a half-life, no man would accept her now. Isabelle sunk into a chair, defeated.

After a moment, the savory smell of pheasant drifted over to her from where it roasted. Isabelle decided to worry about tomorrow when if finally came. It was Christmas; she should be merry. Isabelle gingerly set the small crock of butter on the table. They were to have real butter that Trestan bought in the village when he had gone pheasant hunting. Isabelle wondered how much he had paid for the luxurious yellow stuff. Perhaps she was better off not knowing. The darkness lifted from her heart as the clock struck twelve; it was now afternoon. Stomach growling, Isabelle hoped that Trestan would come in soon.

Isabelle heard footsteps in the hall. The sound of Trestan's long stride had an unusual bounce to it. Trestan swept into the room, and took the plate from the astonished girl's hands. Isabelle stepped back, examining him. Trestan looked almost like a stranger to her. He had washed, and shaved the stubble that he had let grow on his chin. He smelt faintly of wood smoke, a comforting, homey smell. The most drastic change about him, however was his smile. Isabelle had never seen him in a better mood. It was as if Trestan had taken on all of the cheeriness in the world or was bracing himself for a last stand. Whatever it was, Isabelle stared at him, astounded by this change in him. He would not be standing in the doorway, longing for the open road today.

"Going to stand there forever?" Trestan said wryly. Even his sarcasm was cheerful today.

"Oh, er, no," Isabelle said, startled into action. She picked up the sash and held it out to him. "This is for you," she said suddenly. "It is not much," the girl added, a little embarrassed.

Holding the plate in one hand, Trestan took the belt gingerly in his other. "Thank you, Isabelle. It's lovely." He tried to put it on while still holding the plate.

Isabelle shook her head at him. "Here," she laughed, "let me." Isabelle put her arms around him to put his belt on. She froze for a moment; Trestan was so near. Isabelle backed away quickly and tied the knot of the belt, not meeting his eyes.

"Thank you," he said softly.

Isabelle nodded in acknowledgement.

"Go up to your room a moment," Trestan said suddenly. "Go on," he urged good-humoredly, "I will finish here."

"Why?" Isabelle protested. She tried to take the plate back from Trestan, but he held it above her reach and shook his head, as if chiding a naughty child. "Besides," she put her hands on her hips, exasperated, "how will you know what to put on the table?"

"You've been prattling on about it all week," the man said, one eyebrow raised. "I was listening, you know."

Isabelle shrugged, defeated. She untied her apron, handed it to Trestan and resigned herself to going upstairs. She was curious to see what he would do when she returned. What had he done? It would not be like Trestan to send her on a futile errand; this jaunt upstairs must have a purpose.

Isabelle came to her room, wondering what was inside. The bed, floor, and writing desk were the way that she had left them that morning. The only thing amiss was the wardrobe. Isabelle almost did not notice at first; the door on the wardrobe did not close easily so Isabelle always left it ajar. The door on the wardrobe was shut tightly. Isabelle pried it open, then stared in wonder. Inside the wardrobe was a pink silk gown.

The over-dress, the color of the first pink roses in spring, had a tight bodice with a heart shaped neckline, tight sleeves that ended at the elbow, and a long skirt which parted in front to display the gold embroidered kirtle. The kirtle had bell-like sleeves and a straight neckline which showed above the neckline of the over-dress. The edges of both dresses were trimmed in gold. There were also white petticoats and a corset tucked toward the back of the wardrobe.

Isabelle examined the dress, praying that she was not dreaming. Although the garments were a bit moth-eaten, wrinkled, stained, and torn, Isabelle thought they were beautiful. After realizing that the one who had given her this gift was waiting, she put it on and rushed downstairs.

Isabelle burst into the kitchen. Trestan had set the table and was sitting at it. At the sigh of her, he rose with a sharp intake of breath.

"You look lovely," Trestan said, slightly uncertain of himself. "Does it fit? Er, I mean, do you like it?"

"Yes," Isabelle beamed, "Thank you, Trestan Conradi."

"Shall we eat, m'lady?" Trestan said with a gentlemanly bow.

"Yes, we shall."

Isabelle ate cheerfully, trying not to get food on her clothes. During the meal, she and Trestan were mostly silent, but the silence was not awkward or unpleasant. When he was finished, Trestan pushed away his plate.

"That was good," he said simply.

"_Merci_," Isabelle replied.

"Cook any more at that rate and there will be nothing left in the pantry," Trestan teased.

"Do you think that we'll have enough food come spring?" Isabelle said, alarmed.

"We should be fine," Trestan said, "Hopefully spring will come early. We can worry about it then."

Isabelle sighed, then rose and piled the dishes. She began to dunk them in a bucket of water and grabbed her wash rag from a hook nearby. Isabelle wished she could clap her hands and the dishes would be clean, but that was unrealistic. There was work to be done; she would have to do it. Isabelle started when Trestan touched her hand when it was nearly in the dishwater.

"Leave those," he urged. "They will still be there tomorrow."

"Oh, alright," Isabelle agreed. "What do you wish to do now?"

"How about a game of chess?" Isabelle suggested. She had grown better at the game since Trestan had taught it to her. Even though she was a poor strategist, Isabelle knew that Trestan enjoyed the game.

"Yes, thank you," Trestan grinned. "You have been in this kitchen too long," he suggested, "Why don't we play in the library?"

"You're ridiculous," Isabelle said, amused. "It will be freezing cold up there."

Trestan shrugged, picked up the chess board and went to the library. Isabelle followed, wondering what he was up to.

The library was blissfully warm; an extravagant fire blazed in the grate. A few weeks before, Trestan had dragged a small table and two chairs up to the library. Isabelle drew her chair nearer the fire and sank into it gratefully. They played four games of chess, Isabelle winning one without any help from Trestan. The fire began to die down as they put the chess board aside.

"Trestan," Isabelle inquired, "Which of these books is your favorite?"

"The _Psalms_, probably," Trestan shrugged, "I also enjoy the _Iliad_. I have read little lately; it is always dark when I have the time. There will be plenty of winter though."

"_Oui_," Isabelle replied distantly, "there shall be."

Trestan stood and went to the nearest shelf. "Is there anything else that you would like to do today?" He said, fingering the books lovingly.

Isabelle realized how selfish she was. Here, Trestan wanted to read and she was keeping him from it. She decided to withdraw and let him have the luxury of being able to read in peace.

"No," Isabelle replied curtly, rising and heading to the door. "There is not. You read, go on."

"Are you certain?" the man said. Isabelle thought that he sounded the slighted bit disappointed.

Once Isabelle was at the door, she looked back at him for a second. Trestan was settling back into his chair, a frown etched on his handsome features. He half-heartedly opened the book and began to read.

"Trestan?"

"Yes?" He said, eyes alight. He put so much hope into the word.

Isabelle thought about just shaking her head and leaving, but she didn't. Instead, Isabelle asked like a guilty child, "Would you read to me?"

"Yes," he said, beaming at her, "I believe that could be arranged."

Trestan began to read the _Iliad_ aloud, pausing only for the occasional question from Isabelle. When it was finally too dark to read, Trestan stopped. With a word of thanks, Isabelle slipped down to the kitchen to warm over the food left from lunch.

While the food was over the fire, Isabelle lit the end of a stick on fire and went to the room with the candles. To save the candles, Isabelle only lit the first one. She retreated back downstairs, meeting Trestan in the hall near the kitchen.

"Where were you?" He asked, a little surprised. "I thought you would be in the kitchen."

"Nowhere," Isabelle snapped, trying to keep him from being suspicious. She changed the subject. "Are you hungry?"

Still a little full from noon, the two ate a small supper. The kitchen grew darker until it was lit solely by the fire. Isabelle cleared the table as Trestan banked the fire.

"Isabelle," Trestan began, "Thank you for making all of this food; it was delicious."

"Don't thank me yet," Isabelle said, eager to show Trestan her last gift for him. "Follow me."

"Alright," the man said suspiciously.

Isabelle led him to the room that she had found, silent except for a single "Watch your step" on the stair case leading to the door. There was a tiny shaft of light coming from under the door. Isabelle opened the door just widely enough for her to slip inside.

"Don't I get to come in too?" Trestan asked with mock indignation.

"No," Isabelle scolded playfully. "Wait a moment and if you peek, why, I'll have your hide."

"I thought today was about peace on earth," Trestan groaned pathetically.

Isabelle lit two other candles off of the first. The light made the stained-glass windows glitter; Isabelle had spent hours polishing them, dusting the cobwebs off of the walls, and sweeping the floors. The room was spotless, but this was hard to see in the shadows formed in the candlelight.

"You can come inside now," Isabelle called to him.

"Finally," Trestan said as he began to open the door. "I thought I was going to die of old a—" His voice trailed off, leaving the rest of his playful complaint unsaid.

Trestan entered the room with hushed awe. He admired the candelabra, warming his hands over the candle flames. "Is this for me?" the man asked hesitantly.

For once, Isabelle bit back a sarcastic response. A smile at the corners of her mouth, she nodded.

"Thank you," Trestan said sincerely. "This means much to me."

"You are welcome," Isabelle said shyly. "I owe you so much, a debt I fear is too great to repay…"

"There is no need to think like that," Trestan said earnestly, taking her little hands in his enormous, paw-like ones. "You made the food, and were the reason why we had Christmas… I had forgotten what it was like, to sit down and eat a huge meal, to look forward to something. I know now that there is so much more to life than just surviving. Thank you for teaching me that. And, in the spring, when you go back to your home, I will miss your company."

"I'm not going home," Isabelle said, pulling away from him abruptly. "I cannot go back, not like this. Even if I was cured of this curse, what future would I have there? There would be scandals and rumor about my journey; I would be left as a spinster. That would cost my family too much. Better for them to think me dead, than for that…" Isabelle's composure broke. She wiped away her tears on the back of her hand.

"Isabelle," Trestan said tentatively, "Come with me, then." Isabelle stared at him. She had expected anything but this sudden, unbidden plan. "We can break our curses together. We could go to Greece, or even Cathay, if you wish. There is no need to condemn yourself to a life of despair. Next autumn, we can take a visit to your home, to assure your family that you are well. Things will work; you have my word of honor on that."

"I shall go with you then," Isabelle said, stepping towards him. "Oh Trestan, _merci_." Tears began flowing down Isabelle's face again as she began to sob. Trestan wiped them away with his thumb.

"What is wrong?" he whispered.

"It is like I'm leaving them all over again," Isabelle said bitterly. Embarrassed, Trestan hesitantly put his strong, comforting arms around her. Isabelle leaned her head onto his chest and cried.

"It won't be forever," Trestan said gently. "I promise you."

"I'm so glad that you are here," Isabelle sniffed, trying to regain her composure. "You are always so kind."

"If only I could believe that," he muttered, gingerly stroking her brown hair.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** I hope you brought your raincoat, because the storm is about to break loose!

* * *

Chaper 10

Eventually, Isabelle stopped crying, and Trestan let her out of his embrace. "Where did you find the candles," Trestan asked.

"They were here, all I did was to polish the candelabra, and clean the room a little," Isabelle sniffed.

"Thank you," Trestan said, "These are a luxury. Only the kings have candles as many and fine and smokeless as these…t" Trestan finished distantly. The man was quiet for several moments.

"What is it?" Isabelle said expectantly.

"A memory," Trestan said, as surprised that he remembered this as he was at his reverie, "A Christmas feast, when I was small. There were candles like this, music, dancing. Merry, busy people or, at least, people who were good at pretending to be merry," he snorted, then continued. "It was the only time I wheedled my way into staying up late, and that was a close call in itself."

"It sounds lovely," Isabelle said enviously. Grand parties like this had been her dream during the long, cruel nights she had spent far from home. She wished that the memory was hers to cherish, instead of having a second-hand account of it.

"It was," Trestan agreed. Humming a playful melody, he stepped to the right three times, then shifted his weight from his front to his back foot, and attempted a promenade turn. He stumbled halfway through it, then, with a shrug, abandoned the attempt.

"Do it like this," Isabelle said, mimicking Trestan's dance and gliding through the promenade.

"You know this dance?" Trestan asked.

"Of course," Isabelle laughed, "Doesn't everyone?"

"That would be ridiculous," Trestan said playfully. He bowed deeply. "May I?"

With a nod, Isabelle curtseyed. They danced as much of the dance as they could remember, Isabelle eventually picking up the tune. Her lyrical voice intertwined with Trestan's humming.

"What was the name of the dance," Isabelle asked as they finished.

"The dance? Oh, it is to the national song of my homeland,"

"Which is?" Isabelle urged.

"The dance, or my homeland?"

"Both."

"I live in Conradia, and the dance is to the song 'Pelan's River,'" Trestan said, as if confessing a crime.

"Your last name is Conradi," Isabelle said, more statement then question. This triggered something in her memory. "What does your father do?" she added, with a sudden inspiration.

"He rules," Trestan said heavily.

Isabelle gaped; Trestan's father was the king of Conradia. This meant that he would be the heir to the throne, a prince of much power. She had spent months with the successor to the king of a rich little country. Isabelle immediately sank into a deep curtsey, remaining there until Trestan lifted her chin.

"Do not stand on ceremonies like this," Trestan begged. "That's most of why I left."

"But you are the prince," Isabelle insisted, in awe. "You are the heir."

"Don't you think that I know that?" Trestan snapped. "And eventually, I'm going to have to go back and contend with the machinations of the court, whether I am like this or no. My mother, bless her, is dead, so I need not worry about her, but I haven't seen my father in years. And I am supposed to rule when the time comes. Trestan the Bear-King. Lovely title," he added caustically, striding over to the huge stain glass windows. "Time is running out. There's nowhere for me to run, nowhere to turn. I'll be alone for my reign. I just hope it's short."

"Trestan," Isabelle said, approaching softly, "I will help you break your curse. Just tell me what I must do, whether it be to run around the earth in iron shoes, or to hunt a phoenix and bring you back its claws. You will not be alone anymore."

Trestan laughed; not a laugh of mirth, but a laugh of irony. "You can help me," he replied, "but it is much simpler than those gargantuan tasks."

"Tell me what it is," Isabelle pleaded, "I shall set off to do your bidding at this very hour."

"By goodness, no," Trestan said roughly. "That I cannot do. What you give me must be unwarranted, unasked for, otherwise, the magic in it is lost and shall do neither of us any good."

"You want me to give you something, but you cannot tell me what," Isabelle seethed with frustration. "Why all of the riddles. Please, just tell me. I shall do it, your curse shall be gone, you will go to be king, and I will find a way out of my own curse. Be sensible, Trestan!"

"You shall understand later in time," Trestan said finally. "It is late; take a candle and get some rest. Good night, Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, my lord," Isabelle said defiantly. As she left, she thought that Trestan was going to take her hand to stop her, but he did not. Somehow, she was disappointed.

Over the next few days, they spoke little, Isabelle always addressing Trestan as "My lord." Isabelle took on the tremendous task of cleaning the dishes from their Christmas feast. Trestan made sure that there was enough wood for the fire in the kitchen and poured over his books. Several times, Isabelle tried to make amends, but she was too proud to apologize completely.

Trestan seemed indifferent to her, no matter what she did. His eyes were distant, thinking of the things in his books. He took to coming late for meals, and to bringing the large, heavy tomes with him when he ate. Isabelle could not read, but she guessed that the books that Trestan was reading were not meant for pleasure. He was studying government and how to rule his people. This made Isabelle feel very small and very dull.

"Trestan," Isabelle said gently, "It is time to eat. Please put down the book and come before it gets too cold."

"I shall," the man said, still reading, "In a minute."

"No," Isabelle said coldly. "Come now. You always say that…Why have you changed like this?"

"Changed?" Trestan said, not even glancing up from his reading. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind what I said," Isabelle spat. "I will save you a plate, my lord." She stormed out of the library, biting her lip. Down in the kitchen, Isabelle saved some food for him on a plate and placed it on the shelf above the fireplace. She waited for a few minutes to see if Trestan was going to come and eat, then ate her meal alone.

Tired of waiting, Isabelle was scrubbing dishes when Trestan walked in. Her hands in the dirty, cold water, she nodded to where the plate was. Trestan sat and began to eat. When he finished, Isabelle wordlessly took his plate to wash.

"Thank you," Trestan said, more kindly than he had for days.

"You are welcome," Isabelle replied civilly.

"Isabelle," Trestan said cautiously, "Are you angry with me?"

"You finally noticed," Isabelle scoffed. "Good observation. Yes, I am angry with you."

"I am sorry for that," Trestan said stiffly. "Please, may I know my offense so I may repent of it?"

"Don't you know already?"

"No," Trestan said, puzzled. "I do not."

"I thought that your error was obvious," Isabelle said scornfully.

"Do not play games with me," Trestan said, fighting very hard to remain civil. "Please, what have I done wrong?"

"Why have you created this rift between us?" Isabelle demanded. "You are always pouring over your books that you enjoy less than I do. You barely speak to me, and when you do, why must you always hurt me?"

"Nice pun," Trestan said moodily.

"I didn't mean it like that," Isabelle said desperately. She took a deep breath. "Why will you not tell me what I can do to break our curses? I want to be free as much as you do."

"I cannot," Trestan said undeterred. "You are not to blame, it is me. Can we not forget this and go on as friends?"

"I need to know what it is that haunts you," Isabelle said, resolute. "There is so much more to you than you care to tell me. If you cannot tell me, then who?" She paused for a moment, and found, to her great surprise, a tear was trailing down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand. Isabelle picked up a candle and headed for the door. "Good evening," she called from across the room.

"Isabelle, wait." Trestan stood and dashed after her. "I hoped that we would part as friends."

"Part?" Isabelle asked. "You are leaving, aren't you?" She stated with a sinking feeling.

"Yes," Trestan said bluntly.

"Why?" Isabelle said frantically. "You said that we would stay here until spring and then go together. What about…"

"I am sorry. If I am to rule Conradia, I must know how to. I should learn from my father, he was always a good ruler. I know not how much time he has left. There will be enough food and wood here for you over the rest of the winter. I will leave tomorrow morning. I can get a good start then," Trestan's voice broke, he paused, then added too brightly, "Good night."

Isabelle brushed past him and hurried to her room. How could Trestan be leaving? What would happen to him if there were more winter storms? How could Isabelle survive the rest of the winter if something were to go wrong? Isabelle knew that she had been unkind to him, but she did not think that it was enough to make him leave. Isabelle crawled into her bed, where she lay for a very long time without sleeping.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Thanks to **In Christ-Billios**, **Watsonkat**, and **ihatejacob1 **for reviewing, and kudos to everyone who has read, favorited, and story alerted. Thoughts, questions, cares, comments, concerns, typos? **Review** or PM me. A "good job" goes a long way! Also, vote on the poll on my profie to tell me which stories and one-shots that you'd like to see next! Please _review_!

**Watsonkat:** The curse isn't Trestan's fault-it was his father's. Trestan's father refused to marry a sorceress, so she cursed his firstborn. I explained it a few chapters back, but we'll touch on that again soon. It's not Trestan's fault, so he's trying to accept that. He's had a long hard road to get used to it... Maybe there's hope for the future.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:** A huge THANK YOU to all who have reviewed, alerted, and favorited. **Bloody Phantom**, **Baroness Orc**, **watsonkat**, **Tora Dust Mi Daram**, **Denad**, **ihatejacob1**--a reviewing record!

Also, thank you to **Baroness Orc** for inspiring me to better writing/revising on this story. I greatly appreciate it!

Sorry for the sporadic updates--I have been on a Jackernackey hunt. See my profile if you're curious. ;) Also, please review-it gets the chapters out faster!

* * *

Chapter 11

Isabelle did not want to face the next morning, but she pulled herself out of bed, praying that Trestan would not leave without saying goodbye. Isabelle found the bear in the great hall, the place they had first met. Trestan paused, backpack in paw, when he saw her.

"I just wanted to tell you," Isabelle said stiffly. "Goodbye," she said. On impulse, she kicked the glass slippers off of her feet and thrust the glass slippers toward him. "Take these, you will need them more than I."

"Thank you," Trestan said brokenly, "but I cannot take them. They would not fit on my tiny, girlish feet. You should keep them," he said, paws clenched. "I have a gift for you."

Trestan opened one paw. On it sat a breathtaking ring set with rubies and diamonds. "Take this. Belonged to my grandmother, Christarina Conradi. If you show this to any of my subjects, it will guarantee you safe passage, food, and lodging. It is wrought in the sign of the royal family of Conradia." He slipped the ring onto her fingers with a dexterity Isabelle did not expect from his burly paws.

"I can never repay this," Isabelle sniffed, turning away to subtly dab at her eye. "My thanks. May all good things follow you." She curtseyed to Trestan. He took her by the hand and wiped her tears with the back of his paw.

"It is for the best," Trestan shrugged. "Farewell." With this he shouldered his pack and headed for the door.

"Wait," Isabelle shouted, running after him. Trestan turned back in front of the open door. Isabelle flung her arms around him, amazed at the softness of his fur and the strength of his arms. "I will miss you."

"As will I," Trestan pulled himself away, and with a look of regretful resolve, strode out the door and onto the path that led down the hill and to the village beyond.

Isabelle stood, rooted to the spot. She still did not believe that Trestan could be leaving. All she could do was watch him walk down the hill: her voice couldn't work, her feet would not move. Even if she could run after him, or shout to him, what would she do or say?

When Trestan disappeared from her view, Isabelle found her feet enough to fly to the room with the best view of the road to the village: the library. From the window there, Isabelle observed as Trestan became further and further away. He never looked back, or hesitated in mid-step. Soon enough, he was down on all fours, as if abandoning her as quickly as possible.

Once the bear was lost from view forever, Isabelle numbly left the window. She could not stay in the library, Trestan's favorite haunt. Isabelle wandered the rooms, wishing for Trestan to turn back and to say he was wrong, or at least for something to ease the pain of his leaving. Isabelle found nothing; besides, he was probably glad to get away from her and to finally find a way to solve his curse. Still, Isabelle half-expected to meet Trestan around a corner or through a door. The thought of spending the rest of the winter alone was unendurable.

Trestan would not turn back, Isabelle knew. He always could find a way to do what he put his mind to, like with moving the cabinet during her first days at the castle. The only way to get him back would be to go after him, Isabelle decided. She would follow him, dispose of her pride, and beg him to come back with her. If he would not return to the castle on Goble Hill, she would go with him, whether he wished it or no.

Isabelle changed into her gold kirtle, dark green overdress, and russet cloak, then packed a small bag with food, her pink gown, and the slim volume of _The Iliad_ as a peace offering once she met up with Trestan. She couldn't bear to leave her pink dress behind.

Isabelle took a lace from her long-discarded pair of boots and tied the ring around her neck; it was too bright to wear upon her finger without attracting attention to it. Isabelle finally let herself examine the ring that Trestan had given her: a large heart-shaped ruby surrounded by a ring of small diamonds and five smaller rubies on a silver band. Isabelle loved it, but she would use it in any way necessary to get Trestan back.

It was three minutes to noon on the big clock in the great hall. Isabelle packed her glass slippers into the bag that she slung across her back.

As the clock struck eerily, the silver mist descended on Isabelle and she became a wolf. She bolted out the door and down the hill. She could faintly smell Trestan's trail with her wolf's nose; he always smelt faintly of wood smoke, she recalled. Funny how she did not remember this until he had left.

Isabelle ran for hours. Eventually, she stopped for a quick rest. Trestan was getting closer; Isabelle knew. She could not wait to see him again, even though they had only parted that morning. What would she say once she found him? Isabelle decided not to think about it—she would know when the time came. She had caught her breath and began to run once more.

Isabelle stopped when she reached the village; a fair amount of people were outside—the winter was not too cold today. Trestan was inside the village somewhere, she could smell him. Isabelle circled the outskirts of the village, picking her way between the heaps of garbage, trying to get a glimpse of Trestan. She found him at last, pint of ale and pastry in hand; he had always liked pastries, Isabelle mused. She had to think of a way to get his attention without the whole village noticing.

Before she could think of a plan, Isabelle noticed what Trestan was doing and halted in disbelief. Trestan was talking very animatedly to an extraordinarily pretty girl, who, Isabelle noticed with outrage, was wearing a trampy dress cut far too low in front to suit Isabelle's tastes.

Livid, Isabelle thought of the only thing she could do to distract him from the wench. Isabelle sauntered forward until she was standing by Trestan's leg. She sat down, every inch the well-mannered pet dog, watching her master. Isabelle cleared her throat, but it sounded more like a growl.

"Oh my," the girl gasped in her shrill voice, "It is a wolf, here in the village!"

"No," Trestan said. He raised an eyebrow at her, but his silver eyes sparkled. He was happy to see her. Isabelle was so overjoyed that the feeling took her breath away. "She is mine," he said with pride. "She will not hurt anything, although sometimes she is badly behaved," Trestan said, obviously directing the last part of the sentence at Isabelle.

The girl began to babble on again about her fear of wolves and beasts and wild things. Trestan's face was set in a smile, but his eyes were distant.

"Trestan," Isabelle muttered under her breath. He didn't notice.

"Trestan," Isabelle quietly tried again, but no answer.

"Trestan Conradi," Isabelle tried to whisper, but it came out as a very loud _bark!_

Trestan obviously got the hint. "Adieu, Mademoiselle," he interrupted the girl, set down his pint and walked briskly away. Isabelle nipped at the girl's legs for good measure, then followed Trestan. They strolled out of the village until it faded out of view.

Once out of eyesight from the village, Trestan abruptly knelt down beside Isabelle the wolf. "What were you doing, pulling a stunt like that," Trestan hissed.

"Trying to save you from that…" Isabelle paused, unwilling to say what she had really thought of that woman because it would have been very impolite.

"Ulgh, I agree with you. She was _terrible_," Trestan groaned. "But," he continued guiltily, "I owe you an explanation."

"Of course you do!" Isabelle steamed. "I come here to tell you…that I love you… and I find you talking to _her_. I thought that there was…that _we_—"

"Isabelle," Trestan said, placing a hand on her grey fur, "I cannot give you an explanation unless you are quiet."

"Oh," was all she said.

"But first, we should put a little distance between us and the village."


	12. Chapter 12

Author's Note: In honor of Fat Tuesday, I have updated! Thank you to all who have alerted, favorited, reviewed, etc. A big thank you to **Baroness Orc** for her influence on my writing. Now, on with the show. Review if you like it, and check out my other stuff too. FYI: I own the characters, but not the archetypical fairy tales lying beneath the surface. Enjoy!

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Chapter 12

They walked for what was left of the afternoon in silence. Snow blew across the roads, and their breath was white, like the transforming mist they were all-too-familiar with. Isabelle's fur was warm, and she was glad that Trestan had not sent her back to the castle like she had been expecting him to do.

When the light began to fade, they stopped to spend the night in a copse of pine trees which stood near the road. Trestan took the long knife at his belt and hacked off some low branches, making two beds, and then started a small fire to cook. After a small, but warm supper Trestan began to speak. Isabelle thought she heard a little shouting in the distance, but ignored it, enthralled by Trestan's words.

"I am sorry," Trestan began, playing with one of the candles in his pack. "I never thought that it would come to this. I have treated you shamefully, and I ask for your forgiveness.

"First of all, Isabelle, I want you to know that I do love you." He paused here to gauge Isabelle's reaction. Isabelle lifted her head off of her paws, doing her best to hide the fire in her eyes with a look of annoyance, but that is difficult to do without eyebrows.

Trestan continued, encouraged by this. "I must admit, that from the time when we first met, I have done everything to win your love, just for the sake of winning it. Then you changed, and I loved you for it. Then I understood what love truly is, and how wrong I had been.

"Isabelle, ever since I was born, I have been under this curse, because my father refused to marry a witch. I was a victim of it, but I have realized that everyone is a victim to something, curse or no. Soon, however, I won't have to worry about this, because it will be decided either way. I have ten days to remove this curse, or I will be stuck with this half-life until I die. The lady who cursed me gave me one day of my life for every gold coin she would have given my father if they were married. Nine thousand days, and then a lifetime of certainty."

"Trestan," Isabelle said from her sphinx-like position, "What can I do for you?" The shouting in the distance grew louder, something was wrong.

"Wait," Trestan said, dropping the candle and holding up a hand. Suddenly all of the shouting stopped. "Isabelle," he said forebodingly, hand finding the hilt of his deadly knife, "Where are your glass slippers?"

"In my pack, on my back, you know how things disappear when we transform," Isabelle said, terrified.

Trestan cursed. "Quiet," he ordered. "When I shout, run. Act normal until then."

Isabelle realized that his rough manner was not directed at her. She could hear the sounds of men, stepping on the pine needles. They were being surrounded.

"Good dog," Trestan said, a little more loudly than necessary. "Time to sleep, aye?" After putting a few sticks into the fire, he laid down on the pine branches.

Isabelle began to panic as everything began to happen at once. A score of villagers rushed through the pine trees, armed with a few rusty swords, cudgels, axes, and pitchforks. They began to yell even more loudly when they saw Isabelle. Trestan stood his ground, even though he was surrounded by villagers.

"What do you want with me?" Trestan said calmly. A few of the villagers stepped forward to attack, but most were stunned by his calm demeanor.

Their leader, a middle aged laborer, stepped forward. "We want your wolf. It scared the wits out of my daughter today, bit her. Nasty bite. Surrender it to us and we will let you go free."

Trestan turned to Isabelle. "That was a very wicked thing to do," He scolded.

Isabelle whined penitently, tail between her legs.

"See," Trestan continued, "she is sorry for what she did. Can we not leave it at that and part as friends?"

"No," the man said, "My orders were to see that wolf dead. I can only give you one more chance: give her up and walk away, or face our gang here." The men raised their weapons.

"I apologize, but I will not be able to do that," Trestan said dryly. "If you wish to fight me, well, be forewarned. I will not make it easy for you tonight." The men paused, unsure. Trestan shrugged. "As lovely as your company is, I must leave you now."

Trestan swung his pack onto his back and began to walk away from the mob, when something fell out of the pack and hit the ground. It was the candle that Trestan had been toying with when he was speaking to Isabelle.

"He has candles," A young man yelled. "He's a sorcerer!" The man slashed at Trestan with an ancient battleaxe. Trestan whirled around to face his attacker, knife in hand. With a few deft moves, he disarmed his opponent and dodged several pitchforks.

"Isabelle," Trestan urged, "run!"

Isabelle did not need to be told twice; she bolted out of the copse, hoping that Trestan would be able to find her after the battle.


	13. Chapter 13

**2-24-2009**

**Author's Note**: In honor of Fat Tuesday and **Baroness Orc**'s request, I have posted more. Unfortunately, I will be in a coma-like state of half-hiatus, so don't expect updates for a few weeks.... Alas! Enjoy the cliffie, and as always, please review! (Hint: the more reviews, the sooner I will find it in my heart to update.) Pip, pip, cheerio!

* * *

Chapter 13

Two boys, barely in their teens, were standing on the road, having been told to keep watch. In reality, they were doing more pretend sword fighting and sorcerer slaying than actual watching. When the short, pudgy boy parried at his scrawny friend's knees, he was dazed when a wolf came running up and barreled into him. Of course he stabbed it before it could get away. Then, for good measure, the scrawny boy stabbed it again, right in the ribs.

Isabelle was sprinting so fast that she slammed into two boys, knocking them over. A sharp pain split her side; it became strangely wet. Isabelle was dazed for a moment, her world spinning around her. This gave one of the boys enough time to catch hold of her neck. She felt another, smaller pain in her side and bit back a scream.

"Halloo," the scrawny boy called to the mob, "I've caught the wolf."

"Yesh," the pudgy boy lisped, "We've got 'ther."

Isabelle strained, trying to bite the boys and break free, but they held her fast. Isabelle barked, trying to get Trestan's attention. The battle, however, was not going well for Trestan. The mob had forced him out of the trees by setting them ablaze. They were fighting now, trying to surround Trestan, who was struggling with the strength of a bear.

The mob's leader flung a rope at the two boys. "Good work," he called. "Take it back to the village. We shall be along shortly."

"Aye, sir," the scrawny boy replied.

They tied Isabelle's legs together impossibly tight and drug her on the snowy road behind them. Isabelle's side burned as she was moved. She whimpered, but the boys ignored her. They walked leisurely, chattering about how they would be known in their village as the ones who had captured the wolf.

Isabelle began to cry. She would be killed in the village, as Trestan would be killed in the brush-filled hills. Trestan deserved better than that; he would have made a good and noble king. Isabelle only wished that she had been able to break his curse and hear his secret before she died.

Isabelle was afraid, not of death, but of the judgment which came after. She had done nothing great or kind in her life; too many regrets flooded her consciousness at that moment. Isabelle wished that she had been kinder to Trestan, if she had been, he would not have left, and they would not be killed now. The guilt for all of the sins she had committed and for everything she had left undone flooded her soul.

Time was precious, or, at least, what was left of it. Isabelle sifted through her memories, savoring the ones of Trestan, her parents, Antoine, Marie, and any of the times she had ever felt joy. These were what life was about, why it had any meaning, Isabelle realized. This was what God had intended when he had made the world.

The boys stopped for a moment to rest. Isabelle was thrown into the snow for a moment before they took off again. Isabelle shivered; the cold was wonderfully intense—definitely better than the alternative of feeling nothing. But the only part of her that was warm was the burning pain in her side. Soon that too would become cold.

The hours spent going back to the village went by quickly. Soon they were back to the place where Trestan had confronted Isabelle right outside the village. Isabelle could hear someone approaching from the direction of the copse. She shuddered, trying to be brave, now that the time had come. Isabelle could not see anything; she was facing toward the village, unable to move.

"Who ith there?" they pudgy boy said, alarmed.

"Only me," a familiar voice answered, half-disguised by the local accent. Isabelle knew that she was deceiving herself by allowing herself to believe that it was Trestan.

"What do you want?" the scrawny boy drawled.

"To tell you that I will watch the wolf, while you two go and help fight," the voice offered. "The attacker got away. They are in need of two brave boys like you to go and help them track him down to kill him."

"All right," one of the boys replied. "As long as you don't tell the rest that you captured the wolf. "

"You have my word," the voice promised solemnly. "Go on now. The sooner you go out and help, the better."

With shouts of excitement, the boys handed the stranger the rope and went off into the night. Isabelle was dragged along for a few more minutes, and then the stranger stopped abruptly. Although the rope holding her legs together was removed, Isabelle remained where she was, partially out of fear, partly because her side burned if she moved.

"Isabelle," Trestan whispered, torn between urgency and joy, "we have to go now. Come on, get up."

"I cannot," Isabelle choked. Isabelle's side burned. She didn't want to move, even though she knew that it was urgent.

"Come on…" Trestan urged. "You're bleeding," Trestan gasped in disbelief. Although the night was bitterly cold, he ripped apart the hem of his shirt and wrapped the makeshift bandage around her side. "That should help stay the bleeding," Trestan said, mostly to comfort himself. "Do you think you can move?"

"Do I look like I can?" Isabelle asked sharply. Her side hurt her more when she spoke. "Sorry," Isabelle whimpered.

Trestan smirked despite himself. "I will carry you, then." He carefully scooped her up in his arms. Isabelle, head against his chest, had forgotten how large Trestan was. His arms felt strong enough to circle the whole world; if Trestan could do that, he could certainly keep Isabelle safe. There was a jolt as Trestan started to move. Isabelle bit her tongue to keep from crying out; she stiffened. Trestan slowed down, moving as if Isabelle was made of glass. Isabelle was grateful when she drifted off to sleep or unconsciousness, she couldn't decide which.

Time was a blur for Isabelle. She slept, barely acknowledging the world outside of her own consciousness or whether she was a wolf or a maiden. She remembered being so cold that she thought she was dead, and then so warm that she believed she was in Hades. The worst part of those days was the dreams. Always in her dreams were mobs of villagers, angry faces leering at her in the firelight. They were always too many for Trestan. Even if he tried to run, he could never get far. In the end the gangs always found their quarry.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** Thank you to **Baroness Orc** and **3DG** for the lovely reviews of the last two chapters. Now see what the Jackernackey has delivered....

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Chapter 14

Isabelle's mind finally caught up with her body. Isabelle was lying on a none-too-soft bed, with an enormous crick in her neck and a stabbing pain in her side. A large, rough pair of hands was holding onto one of hers. Isabelle opened her eyes and waited for the thatch ceiling she was staring at to stop spinning.

"Trestan?" Isabelle said, her voice a whisper. She tried to turn her head to see him, but stopped. Her painfully stiff neck prevented her from doing so. Isabelle tried to sit up, muscles creaking in protest, but was only able to rise an inch off of the bed. "Trestan, can you hear me?" Isabelle said frantically. She felt the person holding her hand stir.

"Shh, try not to move," Trestan said, moving into her line of vision—he had been holding her hand after all. "It is all right, I am here." Trestan appeared tired and careworn; Isabelle guessed that he had not gotten much sleep recently. "Once you get more rest, we can talk. Wait until then."

Isabelle protested, nearly in tears. She wanted to speak with Trestan, not go back to the land where her nightmares would reign.

"Not now," Trestan said, giving her hand a squeeze. "I will be sitting here while you sleep."

"You…" Isabelle yawned, "sleep too."

When Isabelle woke next, she felt a slight trace of panic. Although the crick in her neck was gone, Trestan was not at her bedside. Isabelle searched the room, expecting to see his massive, comfortingly strong figure. There was no one there, but a boy sprawled near the fire drawing figures on a scrap of vellum. He had brown hair cut to his ears and wore a simple brown tunic and dark green leg wraps. Hearing Isabelle stir, he got up, threw a log on the fire, and came and sat in the wooden chair that stood by her bedside.

"Good morning, Lady Isabelle," the boy chirped. "Glad to finally see you awake."

"Good morning," Isabelle replied cautiously. "Where is Trestan?"

"Lord Trestan is outside for a bit," the boy shrugged, adding, "like he always is in the mornings."

"I see," Isabelle said. Trestan was still cursed, then. Isabelle's head spun, but she

sat up anyways. "How did I come here?"

"Lord Trestan, you see, he's stronger than a bear, he carried you," the irrepressible boy said.

Isabelle sighed. Again Trestan had shown her kindness that she would never repay, lover or not. "Where are we?"

"We are in the house of Friar Justin, in the woods of Gallia, pretty near the border to Oberland, as far as things go."

"Do you know of a place called Goble Hill? Do you know how far away it is?" Isabelle asked, trying to figure out how long she had been unconscious.

"No, but I'm guessing that is near Gobleton, about forty miles to the West."

Isabelle leaned back against the pillows. "How long have I been here?"

"Five days, lady," the boy said, trying to be of help. "Tis January ninth, if that helps...Wait, I forgot," the boy said, leaping out of his chair. He retrieved a cup from near the fireplace. "Friar Justin told me to give you this if you woke up and he wasn't here," he blurted. The boy held the cup, trying to decide whether to give it to Isabelle to hold or not.

"Are you going to hold it, or are you going to give it to me?" Isabelle asked, less sarcastically then she really felt. "Why don't you hold it so that I may drink from it?" she cued more kindly. The boy held the cup as Isabelle drank the dark brew that it held.

"Thank you…Wait, what is your name?"

"Peabo, lady," the boy said with a respectful nod.

"Thank you, Peabo," Isabelle said, suddenly weary. "Please wake me if Trestan comes back." She drifted back into a gentle sleep.

Isabelle woke again; the room was darker than before, mid afternoon perhaps. Trestan was slumped in the chair next to Isabelle's bed, head in his hands while he slept. Isabelle wanted to brush his dark hair back from his face, and tried to move to do so, but her hand would not reach that far. Instead, she settled for resting it on his knee. Trestan started, and then realized that both he and Isabelle were awake.

"Isabelle," he breathed; he looked the happiest that he had been since Christmas Day.

Isabelle tried to sit up so that she could talk to him properly, but winced. Her side felt as if it was being ripped apart. She gave up the attempt and tried to be content laying on the bed and looking up at Trestan.

"Lay still," Trestan said guiltily. "I am so sorry. It is all my fault. If I had been honest with you this never would have happened and you never would have been hurt."

"It doesn't hurt," Isabelle said indignantly. It was a blatant lie; her side hurt terribly, but Trestan was with her, and if she was conscious this much, it meant that she was not to die.

"But this will," Trestan said, gathering his courage. "After hearing this, if you wish to leave me, I will understand."

"What do you mean? And don't I even merit a 'good to see you are conscious,' or an 'I love you'?" Isabelle said crossly.

Trestan sighed. "I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are alive and well—enough. And I do. Love you, that is," Trestan said, with an embarrassed smile. "Still, the choice is yours," Trestan said gravely. "If you leave me, I understand. You know of my curse, and of my past. The nine thousand days are nearly up. Every transformation is more stifling, more final. If I do not break my curse soon…"

"Tell me how," Isabelle pouted.

"I must win the love of a lady," Trestan confessed, "and by that love, a kiss."

"That is all?" Isabelle blinked. She would have laughed, but for the deadly earnest expression on his face. "I will break your curse," she added softly.

"Isabelle," he cautioned, "To do this will be to bind yourself to me forever. We only met a few months ago—"

"And you know me better than anyone else in the world," Isabelle interrupted. She wanted desperately to throw her arms around him, but her body would not cooperate.

"But there is the possibility that my father would not take me back as his heir. Are you prepared for that?"

Isabelle was quiet for a moment. She had always imagined marrying a man with an extreme amount of money, who would shower her with gowns and jewels. Trestan had not a single penny to his name. Yet, Isabelle would take him; Trestan was a good man. True, he had only wanted her to break his curse, but Isabelle would take the risk that their relationship ran deeper than that. When Trestan had left her back at the castle, a part of her soul had gone with him—he completed her, made her whole. Where she was loud and fiery, he was reserved and temperate. Where she was impulsive, he was thoughtful; their dependence on each other had brought them together. Their shared experiences would keep them together.

"Yes," Isabelle said firmly, "I am prepared. I met you penniless, after all."

"And if he does take me as his heir to the throne of Conradia, are you prepared to reign as my queen? If I were to die, would you do your best to rule the country and do the best for my people."

"I would do my best, for God and for you," Isabelle responded, trying not to wince: she had not thought of being Trestan's queen. The thought frightened her more than the fear of being thrown out of Conradia penniless and destitute.

"With a few years of guidance, you would make a good queen I think," Trestan said sincerely.

Isabelle smiled hesitantly; it was good to know that Trestan had faith in her abilities. All the same, was she capable enough to become queen of a country where she had never been before?

"You will do well," Trestan assured.

"You will too," Isabelle said simply. "Are you going to kiss me or not?" Isabelle challenged playfully.

"Well," Trestan grinned, "I thought that _you_ were supposed to kiss _me_."

Impossibly gentle, Trestan lifted Isabelle off of the pillows and into his arms. "I love you," he whispered into Isabelle's ear.

"This is hardly proper," Isabelle scolded, realizing she was dressed only in her chemise.

"Soon propriety will not matter," Trestan said roguishly. He pulled Isabelle onto his lap, one arm around her shoulders. As he leaned towards her, his other arm wrapped itself around her waist. Isabelle wished that her arms and legs would obey her commands; she longed to hold Trestan as tightly as she could. At least her lips worked, Isabelle thought as their lips brushed together for the first time. The familiar silver mist seemed to descend for a moment, growing thicker and heavier. Suddenly, it vanished altogether.

Trestan drew back briefly, leaving Isabelle gasping for air. Why did she need air? Kissing Trestan was more important than breathing. As if he heard her unsaid demand, Trestan bent down and kissed her again, as furiously as he had fought the mob in the village near Goble Hill, as roguishly as when he had stolen a biscuit when Isabelle had been baking for Christmas, and as gently as he had been when he had held her hand while she had been unconscious.

"That is enough now, _cara_," Trestan whispered in her ear. Isabelle was about to protest, when she realized that he was right.

Trestan set Isabelle back into her bed and covered her with the blanket. Trestan rose and bowed to her, saying roguishly, "Is there anything that your humble servant may attend to?"

"Never leave me," commanded Isabelle, beaming at him.

"Soon. As you said, we must think of propriety. It will be only a few days more." Trestan said, "Surely we can wait that long."

Isabelle nodded, and then winced; her side hurt again.

"Are you hungry, thirsty?" Trestan asked.

"_Non_," Isabelle said weakly, "I am fine."

"You aren't," Trestan insisted. "You need some water, at the least." Trestan fetched a wide, shallow cup with water in it and held for Isabelle to drink from. It surprised Isabelle how thirsty she had become.

While Isabelle drank, a man entered the room. He was tall and very thin with a

good-humored face and black hair swiftly fading into grey. The tan robes he wore, the humble rosary tied to his belt, and fact that his hair was tonsured confirmed that this man was Friar Justin.

"_Saluti_, daughter Isabelle," the Friar said, genuinely pleased. "It is good to finally see you awake."

"_Merci_, father," Isabelle replied, "for the care you have given me during this time. Hospitality has never been more appreciated."

"You are most welcome, daughter." Friar Justin said serenely. The friar produced a bowl of stew made of tender beef and thickened with flour.

"Here," Isabelle said, trying to reach for the bowl. "I can feed myself."

Trestan seemed to think this was exceptionally funny. "_Cara_," he said, biting his lip to keep from smiling, "You can barely move. I'll feed you." Trestan took the bowl and spoon in his too-large hands. Little by little, the soup was moved from the bowl to Isabelle's mouth. After another drink of water, and a few soothing words from Trestan, Isabelle slept.

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**Author's Note:** If you liked it, please review! "True Love's Kiss" from the movie _Enchanted_ is the corresponding cong for this chapter. Is the chapter too syrupy? Did you adore Peabo? Let me know! ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Again, another chappie. I've been trying to go for quality over quanity, though I don't have much time for either. I recently suffered a Jackernackey attack (see my profile, if you don't know what a Jackernackey is...) which caused the story to go in an altogether different direction than planned, so I had to scrap most of my original ending. Thank you to **3DG** and **Baroness Orc** for their lovely reviews. Have fun, good luck, and, as always, _review!_

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Chapter 15

The next morning, Isabelle woke a little groggily, not opening her eyes until she was well awake. Friar Justin and Peabo were playing chess—there was nothing unusual about that. Isabelle opened her eyes and slowly sat up. Absorbed in their game, Friar Justin and Peabo did not notice.

Trestan burst into the room, arms of wood, and a draft of cold air sweeping inside with him. His eyes were as bright as the snowflakes that were melting in his hair; there was something different, almost boyish, about him. His eyes met Isabelle and he froze for a moment. A grin crept across his face and shone there for a moment. Abruptly, Trestan turned and stacked the wood near the fireplace.

Isabelle could not place what exactly about Trestan was different: he was carefree, like a great weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. Still, she wondered what about him had changed. Trestan bounded across the room towards Isabelle's bed.

"Good morning, milady," Trestan said cheerfully.

"You were absent when I awoke," Isabelle pouted. "I shall never forgive you."

"My most humble of apologies," Trestan countered. "Shall we kiss and make up, then?"

"Oh, if you insist," Isabelle huffed.

"I do insist," Trestan smirked. He leaned down and kissed her on the nose.

"That's not a proper kiss," Isabelle said coyly, hoping for another.

"We can argue about that later," Trestan said.

Isabelle noticed Peabo turning bright red where he sat, still pretending to play chess with Friar Justin.

"Your turn, Peabo," Friar Justin urged.

"Oh, is it? I'm sorry, I was just, erm, and I think I'll move…this one," Peabo finished lamely, coloring even more.

"Your king's in check," Friar Justin said. "Are you paying attention?"

At this, Trestan whispered to Isabelle, "Now see what you've done to him?"

"No," Isabelle replied quietly. "You were the one who did it. You kissed me, if I remember correctly."

"Poor boy," Trestan muttered.

"Checkmate," Friar Justin said, removing Peabo's last piece from the board.

"Let me see, what should I move next?" the boy said absently.

"The game is over," Friar Justin prompted.

"Oh," Peabo said, staring at the ground.

"Good morning Friar, good morning Peabo," Isabelle chirped. "Lovely morning, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, daughter," Friar Justin said placidly. "Are you hungry?" He handed Isabelle a bowl of venison stew, not waiting for her to answer.

"How are you this morning, Peabo," Isabelle asked.

Peabo blushed a little. "Well, lady, thank you," Peabo said, politely. "I'm getting weary of the cold, but we've cut lots of wood, so it isn't such a bad thing. Still, I'm excited for spring, even with the mud and all."

"Merci, father," Isabelle said, after she had wolfed down the stew. The hot food made her feel alert, instead of the grogginess that had been plaguing her for the past few days.

"How badly was I hurt?" Isabelle asked.

"Badly," Trestan admitted. "How do you feel now?"

"I think I'm dying," Isabelle said, wincing dramatically. She had breathed too deeply, making her side burn where she had been hurt.

Trestan laughed; Isabelle was glad to see it. He had been so anxious for so long.

"Don't laugh at someone on their deathbed," Isabelle scolded. "How long was I ill for?" she added more seriously.

"Eight days," Trestan said automatically. A shadow clouded his face for an instant, but was soon chased away with a sigh of relief.

"Eight days," Isabelle echoed distantly. She had broken Trestan's curse by a narrow margin indeed. The curse. Trestan was always a bear in the mornings, until this morning. Trestan's curse was broken, Isabelle reminded herself. That is what was different about him, why he was so light and free. For the first morning of his life, Trestan was a man instead of a bear.

"Happy now?" Isabelle murmured to Trestan, who was sitting near her bedside.

"Indomitably," Trestan replied. "Thank you."

Was Isabelle still a wolf-maiden, then? She waited impatiently until after lunch, then shoed the men out, asking for a moment of privacy. The glass slippers had stayed on her feet all through her illness; Isabelle pried them off of her feet.

Isabelle breathed a sigh of relief that turned into a gasp of despair. The silver mist descended upon her; Isabelle became a wolf again. Isabelle's stomach clenched and tears rushed to her eyes as she put her paws back into the glass slippers and transformed back into a girl again.

Isabelle allowed herself the luxury of spitting out a single choice word. She wanted to break down crying, or to strangle something or to run far away. Why was she still a wolf? Isabelle sat back down on her bed in shock. How was she supposed to break a curse that she did not know how to break? Wasn't her curse the mirror of Trestan's? Shouldn't their kiss have broken her curse too?

Isabelle's reverie was interrupted by the sound of the men coming into the lean-to, Peabo chattering incessantly. She was going to have to let them inside soon, before they realized that something was wrong. After drying her eyes, Isabelle opened the door to the lean-to and wordlessly went back to her bed.

Friar Justin, Peabo, and Trestan came piling into the too-small hut, talking about the lack of bear-tracks outside. Isabelle flinched; she could hardly stand being reminded of the curse. It was bittersweet that Trestan's curse was broken, but why couldn't hers be too? Why couldn't Isabelle throw a tantrum and be done with it; she was more than willing to pitch a fit. She wished that she could give that demented old crone a piece of her mind—that would teach her.

Contentedly, Trestan sat next to Isabelle's bedside; he looked so happy—Isabelle knew that he would feel guilty once he found out about her curse. Blast that curse! Isabelle wanted to scream, on the verge of tears.

"What do you think, _cara_?" Trestan said, obviously speaking to her.

"About what?" Isabelle snapped.

"The fact that there aren't any more bears prowling around here—they, or it, seem to have gone," Trestan explained oblivious to Isabelle's troubles.

"I am glad of it," Isabelle said grudgingly. Yes, she was jealous of Trestan, of being curse free. She loathed herself for hating him, but it was the truth. He was so good and she was…She did not want to think about that.

Friar Justin gave Isabelle a long, knowing look and then he and Peabo began to loudly make their supper, giving Isabelle and Trestan time to have a whispered conversation.

"What's wrong, love?" Trestan asked, bewildered at Isabelle's emotional state.

"Nothing," Isabelle growled. In wolf form, she would have bared her teeth.

"Do not give me that excuse," Trestan said, gently but firmly.

"Fine, if you truly wish to know," Isabelle harrumphed quietly. "I have to keep my glass slippers on."

Trestan was confused. "I know that you are…rather attached to your shoes, but you really shouldn't need to wear them all the time, now…"

"I'm still a wolf-maiden," Isabelle said bluntly.

Trestan stared at her wordlessly. "Oh, _cara_," he finally whispered, slipping an arm around her, lovingly pressing her to his chest. "Oh, I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Isabelle glowered. "The question is, what do I do now? Why am I being punished more? Wasn't leaving my home, becoming a wolf, almost dying?"

"I don't know, but you have been through your share of hardships. Then again, so have I…I'll have to think about it," Trestan said, kissing her on the forehead. Isabelle pulled away, even though she normally enjoyed it. "It will all work in the end."

Somehow, Trestan's words were not a comfort. Having kept her composure fairly well for the rest of the afternoon and evening, Isabelle felt perfectly justified sobbing herself to sleep that night.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note:** A huge THANK YOU to **Baroness Orc** for her encouraging reviews. Have fun and please review!

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Chapter 16

The next morning, Isabelle picked at her breakfast and refused to speak. She just wanted to scream and cry—too bad that that would not change anything. She would still be cursed. Isabelle was grateful that she at least had enough dignity left not to break down in front of Peabo and Friar Justin.

"Isabelle," Trestan began cautiously, "what color dress would you like? I'll be sure to get you a thousand new ones as soon as we reach Conradia."

"Red," Isabelle said curtly. She saw Trestan's face fall; he had been so roguish and carefree the day before. Now he was back to his old, careworn self.

"It will match you ring," Trestan pointed out, still trying.

Isabelle glances at where it still hung on the bootlace around her neck.

"And," Trestan continued, "Lerei, the capitol city of Conradia is famous for its shoes," Trestan continued, undaunted. "I'll have a red leather pair made for you with diamond soles and heels so high that you'll be as tall as I am."

Biting her lip, Isabelle stared at the glass slippers on her feet. They were all that was keeping her from having her whole life being ripped apart by her curse.

"Was it something that I said to you?" Trestan said sheepishly.

"Shoes. Slippers. _Curses!_" Isabelle spat, half as a swear.

"Isabelle," Trestan said, weary of her sulking, "you need to do something instead of dwelling on this. I swear to you that I will do my best to help you, but first, you must help yourself, _cara_."

"Harumph."

"Peabo," Trestan called, "do you have anything that needs mending? Isabelle needs something with which to occupy herself."

"Yes, Sir Trestan," Peabo said, as eagerly as ever. He dived into the chest near the fireplace and brought out a pile of clothing. "Most of this is too small for me now," Peabo said a little guiltily.

"I shall fix it for you," Isabelle sighed. A few of the shirts that Peabo had outgrown were still in salvageable shape, so Isabelle set to work combining them to make a whole shirt in Peabo's size. It would keep her busy for a while, better than uselessly trying to think of ways to break her curse. At least she still had the glass slippers. And Trestan.

Isabelle could sew no more. For the past three weeks, Isabelle had put needle and thread to every bit of cloth that she could lay her hands on. She was so bored that she had even resorted to embroidering the hems of Trestan's shirts. During the whole time that she sewed, Isabelle alternated between dwelling on, and trying not to think about her curse.

"The snow is pretty cleared up by now," Peabo said. He came in from the lean-to coated in mud.

"Peabo," Isabelle warned, "were you supposed to have entered with this much mud on your clothes?" As Isabelle was now well, she was responsible for keeping the hut clean and did her utmost to control the amount of dirt that was allowed to come through its door.

"No, _Signorina,_" Peabo said, shuffling his feet. He sighed, shrugging in surrender. "I will be right back." He exited, muttering darkly about mud.

"Actually," Trestan sighed, one arm against the doorframe, "Peabo needs to use some of his extra energy—I should go and teach the lad the noble art of tracking. It will be good to get a stretch of the legs. And while he is now muddy…"

"Leaving me again?" Isabelle said dramatically.

"Yes," Trestan said, "But how about a farewell kiss."

"If you insist," Isabelle said with mock indifference. Laughing, Trestan kissed her and strode out the door, whistling and song that sounded suspiciously like "Pelan's River."

Friar Justin, who all this time had been copying a text on Saint Augustine's _Confessions_, looked up from his work. "Daughter Isabelle," he said thoughtfully, "how has your side been feeling lately?"

"It has been very well, father. Thank you for inquiring," Isabelle replied. Why was Friar Justin interrupting his own work to ask her about her health? He already knew that her side had healed very nicely and that it only pained her when she bent the wrong way or reached too far. Isabelle was confused—there were only two rules of Friar Justin's home: be kind to others and never interrupt the friar in his work. And Friar Justin had just broken the latter of them: very odd,

"There has been something that I have been meaning to discuss with you," Friar Justin continued.

"When did you meet Trestan?" The Friar asked, rearranging the papers on the table.

"November, I think," Isabelle said.

"And where did that meeting take place?"

Isabelle was not quite sure how to answer; why would Friar Justin want to know about these things? She wasn't sure how much Friar Justin knew about her curse, or how much Trestan had told him about his own. Nervous, Isabelle played with the ring that hung around her neck. "Near Goble hill, father. I was on a journey and met Trestan." Well, it wasn't quite untrue. "We soon became companions, of a sort."

Friar Justin gave her a piercing look.

"Within the bounds of propriety, of course, father." Isabelle felt a blush creep across her cheeks; she had forgotten how improper her and Trestan's lack of chaperone had been. "We had to leave Gobleton after a mob of villagers attacked us. We were quite fortunate to have found you."

"Yes, well, we are glad to have you here," Friar Justin said. When he turned to go back to his work, something caught his eye.

"Isabelle," the friar said sternly, "where did you come across that ring?" A strange gleam came into his eyes.

"Trestan gave it to me," Isabelle said, confused. "He's an honorable man—he did not steal it, if that is what you mean."

"No, it is not that," Friar Justin said slowly. "It is wrought in the sign of the royal family of Conradia. Did you know that to misuse this ring is to commit the basest form of treachery known to Conradians?"

"No, I did not," Isabelle said. "I have not had treachery on my mind, father."

"Yes," Friar Justin nodded. "Were you not also aware," he continued after a moment, "that the five rubies stand for each of the wounds of Christ, and the middle one for his sacred heart?"

"I did not know that either, father," Isabelle said, examining her ring again and still wondering why Friar Justin was questioning her.

"Ah yes, where was I," the friar asked himself as he turned back to his work. "'Yet when it happens that I am moved more by the song than by what is sung, I…'" Muttering to himself, Friar Justin resumed his work.

Relieved that Friar Justin had received enough answers to satisfy his curiosity, Isabelle pulled on her cloak and went outside to find Trestan. Trying to keep her glass slippers clean, Isabelle stepped around the puddles to the little pen that held Dymphna, the cow.

Named after the early martyr, Dymphna was as saintly as her namesake must have been. Her big brown eyes not only complied with her clam, pleasant nature, but also matched the brown spots that littered her cream colored hide. Isabelle was rubbing the knobby part of the cow's head when Trestan and Peabo approached.

"Isabelle," Peabo began quickly, "Trestan and I followed a rabbit part way along a trail and down into its den. Only we did not go into the den because we're too large for that. Tracking neat, I really like it. And soon, if I become skilled enough at it, Trestan says he is going to show me how to put up traps along the trail. Mmm—imagine fresh rabbit stew, and you can have the rabbit skin for a pair of slippers, Isabelle. I think that I am going to go get some lunch and then search for more tracks," Peabo said, turning toward. "I think I may be starving."

"Yes, of course you are starving," Isabelle teased. She tried to give the boy an affectionate cuff on the ear which Peabo easily dodged. "Have a delicious lunch and do not track mud onto the floor," Isabelle called after him. Trestan stood next to her, leaning on the sapling fence of Dymphna's pen.

"Think he will listen to you?" He asked with a smile.

"Probably not," Isabelle sighed, "but I tried to keep the floors clean, at least."

"Yes," Trestan laughed for a moment, but then his tone changed. "Isabelle, there has been something that I have been meaning to ask you."

"Be done with it then," Isabelle replied, stomach twisting into knots.

"Well, I have been thinking," Trestan said gravely. "Just because you broke my curse, does not mean that I will automatically break yours. I thought that our kiss would break your curse as well, but when it didn't..."

Isabelle drew up to her full height. "Conradia does not deserve a cursed queen," Isabelle said archly. "And you should not marry me because of it. Well, I am glad to have known you, my lord." Isabelle curtseyed and began to storm away, barely able to see through the hot tears that had welled in her eyes. Before she was able to take three steps, Trestan had taken a hold on her wrist.

"Isabelle, stop," Trestan said, now with a hand on each of her shoulders. "That is not what I have meant at all." He gently lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I am willing to marry you, curse and all. No, willing is not the right word. Not marrying you would be worse than living with the curse; knowing that you were out there, a different man by your side…I love you, Isabelle Fernette."

Isabelle was sobbing by now; Trestan wiped away her tears with the back of his hand, much like he had on the morning when he had left the castle on Goble Hill. He wrapped Isabelle in his arms and waited for her crying to stop.

"Shh, do not cry," Trestan whispered. "We will always have problems in our life, _cara_. This is but one of them—nothing is ever perfect."

"I do not understand why my curse is still haunting me," Isabelle whined, pushing away from Trestan.

Trestan pulled Isabelle toward him again, his lips inches from hers. "Trust God," Trestan murmured, "trust me. I know we will understand this in time…Please stop crying," Trestan asked desperately, kissing her tears away.

"I cannot," Isabelle hiccupped. Her nose was running now and she was sure that her face was red.

"Then I will just have to make you cry harder," Trestan said, smiling wryly. "Isabelle Fernette, will you do me the honor of joining me in the holy institution of matrimony?"

"Of course," Isabelle beamed at him through her tears. "I think I can stop crying now."


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:** Yes, I realize that this story has been on hiatus for FOREVER. Let me explain: I had the whole story written out, and I was just revising chapters as I posted them on the site. When I revised Chapter 16 (or was it 15?), anyway, the one with the epic, curse-busting kiss, the story changed itself on me. Originally, the Kiss did away with both Isabelle and Trestan's curses, but then that left me with about ten chapters that were all "happily ever after" aka. Plotless. So I was just as surprised as you were when Isabelle's curse was not broken and it threw this story into temporary hiatus. I know this chapter is short and a little choppy, but I hope that the writing style has improved since I started. This story has been over two years in the making and I want to wrap it up so I can move on to the story that I've been leaving on the back burner until Isabelle's tale is complete. Wow, I think my AN is longer than the actual chapter. ;-) **Remember, more reviews=more updates. **

With love,

Pimpernel Princess

~*~

Not long after Isabelle had stopped crying, she and Trestan burst into the hut to tell Friar Justin and Peabo the news of their engagement. Friar Justin smiled knowingly, while Peabo was quiet for a moment. He did not quite know what to think as far as romance was concerned. Trestan could not stop beaming at her; Isabelle was glad to see him so jubilant and full of energy.

That night, when everyone else was asleep in the lean-to outside, Isabelle sat up in her bed, stomach twisted into knots. She was excited to marry Trestan: to feel his arms around her as she slept, to bear his children, to fathom his thoughts as only a soul mate can. But she could not put him through another curse, to drag him down again so soon after being set free. "I have to leave," she commanded herself in the darkness, "and come back once I too am freed." A vow, a resolution, a direction.

Over the next few days, Isabelle quietly, slowly, guiltily gathered some things into a small pack that she his beneath her pillow.

"Peabo," Isabelle said, attempting to be guileless, "have you seen the flint stone? I need it for something."

"No," Peabo said slowly, "I don't think I have."

"Well then," Isabelle said, exasperated at his hesitancy to answer, "let me know if you do see it."

Peabo nodded and banked up the fire, not meeting Isabelle's eyes. Isabelle had no inkling as to why he was acting so oddly. Even Friar Justin seemed to be acting unusually.

"Why father, where did all of your books go?" Isabelle said, noticing that the volumes usually stacked on the table were missing.

"Oh, those books?" Friar Justin replied absently. "I packed them up. We needed more space. Now excuse me, I must see to Dymphna."

Isabelle shrugged; no matter. She was ready to leave early the next morning.

The most difficult part of the journey was finding a time to say goodbye to Trestan. She finally cornered him when he and the other two were heading to the lean-to for the night.

"I love you," Isabelle said, heart in her throat.

"And I you. What's wrong?" Trestan asked soothingly.

Biting off her urge to tell him, Isabelle managed to choke out "hold me."

"I shall," Trestan said, wrapping his strong arms around her. He kissed her forehead. "Goonight, _tesoro_," he whispered.

"Goodby—goodnight!" Isabelle replied. "Sleep well," she added after regaining control of her voice.

"The same to you," Trestan said, turning toward the door.

Without a word, Isabelle flung herself after him, drew his head gently to hers, and kissed him desperately. She would miss him, even if she was only away for a short while.

At dawn, Isabelle woke and tiptoed through the hut and the lean-to. By the time that she reached the door, all three men were still breathing evenly. The light from the brightening sky stroked Trestan's face; he looked wearier than ever. Peabo gave a slight snore, rousing Isabelle; she needed to be on her way. She drank in Trestan's features one more time and then started on the path. After all, it was him that she was doing this for. Isabelle started along the path, almost eager for noon to come; traveling as a wolf was much easier than traveling as a human.

Around noon, Isabelle stopped at a fork in the path. Which way was she supposed to go? Where was she supposed to go? Isabelle realized that she hadn't managed to plan much beyond actually leaving Friar Justin's hut undetected. It wasn't as if witches had set up curse removal shops in every town. At best, Isabelle would wander through the land until she found a sorcerer powerful enough to remove her curse. At worst, Isabelle would be robbed or murdered by brigands. She was half tempted to return to Friar Justin's hut, but that would be admitting defeat.

Chin thrust out in determination, Isabelle was about to head down the right fork of the trail when she heard footsteps behind her. She whirled around, only to find herself facing Friar Justin, Peabo, and Trestan.

"Why are you here?" Isabelle demanded. She wondered if her mind was working correctly, or if she was just imagining them.

"I don't even merit a hello?" Trestan asked roguishly.

"What? Why?" Isabelle fumed.

"We're coming with you," Peabo offered helpfully. He was leading the cow, Dymphna, who was loaded with Friar Justin's books and gear.

"How did you know I was leaving? I tried to be so secretive about it!"

The three men shared a conspiratory glance.

"It was fairly obvious, _cara_," Trestan said, approaching her and taking her hand. "Common household objects disappearing, you uneasy and on edge, last night's dramatic attempt at goodbye. All of the signs were garishly obvious."

"You may come with me if you wish," Isabelle said dramatically.

"I do," Trestan said nobly. "I cannot believe that you left without me," he added melodramatically.

"I shall never do that again," Isabelle said, still pretending to be cross with him; bantering was so much more fun that way.

"Good," Trestan replied. His eyes caught hers and Isabelle's face cracked into a smile as they began the road to Conradia.


	18. Chapter 18

**1~11~10**

**Author's Note:** Finally, an update. Thank **Baroness Orc** my lovely and talented beta for the kick in the backside she gave me this weekend. ;) Also a huge thank you to **3DGandBubblez, Healing., Ori Lee, Rose Knightengale, Mangos, and Savethemadscientist **for both reviewing and hanging in there. I appreciate it! Now, sit back, relax, and have a grand 'ol time.

* * *

The journey to Sacre Cor was uneventful. Trestan carved a toy top for Peabo from the end of one of Dymphna's horns. Peabo was constantly coated in mud from the melting roads. The morning and evening Angelus prayers were said, as always. Isabelle loved to watch Trestan's face as he prayed. He was beautiful, an otherworldly light shining from behind his half-closed lashes. Once, Isabelle earned a stern glance from Friar Justin when he noticed her distraction. After that, Isabelle tried harder to keep her mind on her prayers.

Isabelle did try hard to pray, but it was very difficult to pray to someone who, it feels, despises you and wants to punish you. She often was a hairs-breath away from throwing up her hands and screaming "Why, Lord? Why have you destroyed my only chance at happiness? Take my curse away! Why must I bear this affliction—and Trestan too? Please, at the very least spare him!" Unfortunately, Isabelle discovered, the Lord is not likely to be won over through sheer audacity.

Isabelle was surprised that she had not been struck down for just thinking something so blasphemous. But, after all, wasn't He the breaker of bonds and liberator of captives? If so, then why wasn't her curse removed? She had tried to follow the rules—not being short with Peabo when he dragged his feet and got mud all over her dress, praying the _Pater Noster_ until she repeated it in her sleep, and bargaining with heaven—take the curse away and she would say three rosaries a day, donate extravagant sums to the church, and to become the kindest, gentlest soul that had ever drawn breath. Heaven obviously did not think that this was enough.

~*~

After five days of walking, the travelers arrived in Sacre Cor. Isabelle had never seen so many people in all her life—the streets of the town were bustling with people buying, selling, and simply passing through. Isabelle pressed close to Trestan.

"The city of Lerei is ten times bigger, _cara_," Trestan said, easing a protective arm around her. Isabelle smiled up at him.

"Really? All of these people in one place…" Isabelle said, awed by the life and vibrancy of the city streets. The clothing was colorful, carts of food were in abundance, making Peabo's stomach rumble. Music was everywhere: street performers on flutes, lutes, drums, even a hand bells from the deserts in the West, played in rhythms that bent the ear in odd but pleasant ways.

"It's so _alive_," Isabelle said, stepping in time with the music, eyes shining. But as much as she enjoyed it, she was still Trestan's second shadow.

They walked through the street markets into a respectable, but not rich, neighborhood and found an inn. Friar Justin went inside, leaving the three young people to watch over Dymphna.

"Trestan," Isabelle asked tentatively, "what does the sign say?"

"This inn is called 'The Painted Cow.'" Peabo said, pointing to the sign that showed a man holding a brush and palette painting red and yellow spots on a cream-colored cow.

"Thank you, Peabo," Isabelle said, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice. The result was rather flat.

Just then, Friar Justin exited the inn, a portly man at his side. "Trestan, Isabelle, Peabo," he gestured warmly to each one in turn, "I would like you to make the acquaintance of Bernard Helle, the brother of one of my Brothers-in-Christ. He and his wife run the inn here."

"Please, come inside," Bernard boomed, "I've heard that you've all come a long way."

Isabelle was just about to step into the inn when she realized that Trestan wasn't behind her. Instead, he was still holding on to Dymphna. "You are coming, are you not?" She asked him.

"Actually, the Friar and I were about to go to sell Dymphna," Trestan sighed.

"Oh," Isabelle said knowingly. There was no way that the cow would fit on the boat they were taking to Lerei. And they needed the money to pay their fare for the journey. They had talked about this the night before. Still Isabelle was not prepared for Peabo's barrage of tears.

The boy pushed past Isabelle and wrapped his arms around the Saintly cow's neck, bawling from the strength of his heartbreak. "I'll never forget you, Dymphna. I love you."

Isabelle patted Peabo's back. "Everything will be all right, dear. Come on inside," she coaxed. "It will be easier this way."

As snuffling Peabo shuffled by, Trestan put something into the boy's hand.

"The top made from Dymphna's horn!" Peabo beamed through his tears, wrapping Trestan in a bear hug. "Thank you, Trestan."

"Well, what was _I_ going to do with it? Now a little piece of her shall be with you," Trestan said, fondly ruffling the boy's hair. "Say a quick goodbye and go inside where it's warm."

"Goodbye, Dymphna," Peabo whispered in his bovine friend's ear, "I'll never forget you."

Friar Justin pulled Isabelle aside for a moment. "Daughter," he said gravely, "I have a request to make of you."

"Yes, Father," Isabelle answered, befuddled, "what is it?"

"On no condition are either you or Peabo to leave the inn while Trestan and I are gone," Friar Justin ordered gently.

"Do not worry," Isabelle nearly scoffed at the absurdity of the command, "We shall not leave."

"Give me your word," Friar Justin urged, "that no matter what you see outside you and Peabo will stay inside the inn."

"You have my word, Father," Isabelle said. "But why is this necessary? I am not one to wander and I am certain that Peabo would have the prudence not to leave while both you and Trestan are absent."

"I will explain later, Isabelle," Friar Justin said sternly. "But you can trust my friends here," he smiled. "Go on and get warm. You too, Peabo."

With another quick hug, Peabo untangled his arms from around the cow's neck. Clutching his top, Peabo stopped beside Isabelle. Her arm around the boy's slim shoulders, Isabelle and Peabo went inside the inn.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** Welcome back...

* * *

The inside of the inn was plain, but tidy. A bar lined one wall, while wooden tables and chairs were clustered around the rest of the room. Empty of patrons, the room was full of mid-afternoon sunlight. Isabelle and Peabo were ushered to a parlor on the second floor by Madame Helle, Bernard's portly wife.

"Would you care for some soup?" she asked primly, handing Peabo and Isabelle each a bowl before they could reply.

"Thank you," Isabelle said graciously, quietly beginning to eat. A few days on the chilly spring roads had given her an appreciation for hot food. Tasting carrots and peas again was wonderful; Isabelle hadn't had any vegetables nearly as lovely since her Christmas meal with Trestan. So much had happened to them since then: Trestan was free of his curse, Isabelle had nearly died and then recovered, and they had met Friar Justin and Peabo.

Madame Helle banked up the fire as they ate. She dropped a log into the fire with a little too much force, smoke and ash filled the little room. "You may open the window if you like," she said stuffily, took their dishes and departed.

With a sigh, a breath full of smoke, and a cough, Isabelle moved to open the window.

"No, Isabelle, sit down," Peabo said, bouncing up and shutting the window. "I have it." A cold, clear draft filled the room, making the air breathable once more.

"Thank you, dear," Isabelle smiled at him. Peabo was handling the loss of his favorite pet rather well. He pulled his toy top from his pocket and set it spinning on the windowsill. Isabelle sat back down—on the road, she had missed the luxury of chairs as well. Things were wonderfully, comfortably boring until Peabo gave a cry and attempted to dive out the window to the ground a story below.

"Peabo, what are you doing?" Isabelle scolded, "Why are you doing that, more importantly?"

"My top!" Peabo cried, pushing Isabelle aside and sprinting for the stairs. "Dymphna!"

"Peabo, come back here!" Isabelle demanded. "Friar Justin said not to leave the inn! We shall get your top when Trestan comes back. I can't believe that you were fool enough to play with it on a windowsill where it could fall!"

The boy obviously was not coming back upstairs. Isabelle picked up her skirts, rolled her eyes, and ran after him.

By the time Isabelle got to the door of the inn, Peabo was dashing down the street after a grimy urchin who was evidently stealing the top. With a martyred sigh, Isabelle gave chase, weaving through crowds of people who just that morning seemed lively and jovial, but were now grim and menacing. Isabelle pushed her way through the multitudes, trying to keep within sight of her young charge. Gasping for breath, she had long since given up yelling at him; he probably could not hear her if she had tried.

When Isabelle was nearly spent from running so hard, Peabo ducked into a side alley. Isabelle dashed in after him, only to find both herself and the boy surrounded by thugs. Six men, ripe with the odors of sweat, brine, and ale, approached the unlucky pair.

"Peabo," Isabelle said darkly, standing her ground, "you should not have left the inn."

"I'm sorry," Peabo sniveled, backing toward the wall of the alley.

One of the men was getting too close—the liquor smell on his breath was horrible—and was eyeing Isabelle in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. She took a subtle step backwards. As he kept approaching, she took another. And another. Soon, her back was pressed against the wall, next to Peabo. The men were in a tight semi-circle around them, leaving no gaps through which to run. Isabelle's stomach churned. What was she to do? Isabelle stumbled, the heel of her glass slipper catching on a crack in the cobblestones. An idea came to her.

"Peabo, do exactly as I tell you--promise me," Isabelle commanded quietly.

"I will," he answered in a small voice. "I promise."

"Close your eyes, count to ten, and then pick up my glass slippers--now!"

"Close my---what?" A quick slap from Isabelle set him counting. "One…Two…"

Isabelle pried off her glass slippers--the men nearby looked confused, but kept advancing toward them. Poor Peabo was terrified as he kept counting. "Three…Four… Five…"

The now-welcomed silver mist descended on Isabelle. For once, she was grateful for her curse as the felt her body become a wolf once more. All was quiet--all eyes but Peabo's tightly shut ones were focused on her and her curse.

"Six… Seven… Eight…"

Isabelle leapt toward the nearest thug. All of the men were paralyzed with fear. With surprise on her side, the thug fell under Isabelle's weight. She managed to take down another before Peabo counted "ten."

"Now," Isabelle shouted at Peabo, even though she knew all he would hear was a bark. Peabo's eyes opened--he too froze in astonishment at the large and rather hostile wolf that had appeared beside him. Isabelle growled in annoyance. Peabo snatched up the glass slippers and ran for his life. The thugs ran in the opposite direction, screaming about witchcraft and enchantments.

Isabelle followed Peabo, keeping up with ease. She could smell the way they had come--their trail would lead back to the inn, but Peabo turned the wrong way. Whining, Isabelle nipped at his heels. Peabo ran faster, batting at her with the slippers, but eventually turned the right way and arrived back at the inn. The boy was about to go inside--something Isabelle had not anticipated for she could not follow like this. He glanced back at her one more time before he was going to enter. Isabelle whined at him ruefully and trotted to the back of the inn. Peabo followed tentatively, still clutching the slippers. Isabelle whined at him until Peabo finally got the hint and set the slippers down. Rolling her eyes, Isabelle stepped into them and was transformed into a woman again.

"Isabelle, what?" Peabo sputtered, "You were a wolf and now you're… Does Trestan know? How did that happen? That was _incredible!_"

"I shall explain when we return to our room, Peabo," Isabelle sighed in exasperation. "But first--you must never tell anyone about this afternoon or what I became. Promise me!"

"I promise--but you must tell me more!"

"Fine--but only behind closed doors," Isabelle said, leading the way inside.

"If you insist," Peabo said dramatically. Isabelle cuffed his ear affectionately, shaking her head.

Once they had arrived back in their room, Isabelle told Peabo the sparsest details of her curse and her meeting with Trestan. "Now, Peabo," Isabelle admonished, "You must never tell a single soul of our adventure today. Trestan would only worry and I do not wish Friar Justin to know that we disobeyed him. And besides," she added brightly, "everything came through in the end. We are safe and content."

"Except that slimy beggar child has my top," Peabo lamented, realizing this for the first time. Isabelle stifled her groan of frustration and wrapped the boy in a sisterly embrace. "Why is it that beggar children all look crippled until they steal something and run away with it?"

"Because that is what they do," Isabelle replied, stifling a laugh. "Now be a dear and get me a drink of water--this afternoon has been exhausting. Trestan!" Isabelle heard the door open and the two men enter the room.

"Hello _cara_," Trestan grinned. "I hear your afternoon has been rather exhausting?"

"Boredom is the most exhausting thing in the world," Isabelle lied, kissing his unshaven cheek.

"Indeed…" Trestan said, completely unconvinced. Isabelle was surprised when he said no more about it.

After an uneventful supper, the travelers all turned in early. Isabelle wasn't happy with lying to Trestan--it made conversations rather difficult--but telling him the truth was not a viable option either. Still, she would think about it the next day or put it out of her mind entirely. Still, it plagued Isabelle as she tried to sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** Another chapter within 40 days of the last one. Feel the love...

* * *

The boat on which they would travel was the _Zephyretta_. Painted a jaunty green and yellow, she was a small, swift boat. It was not long until they were aboard and off down the river to Conradia. Isabelle leaned against the rail, watching Peabo pester the captain with questions. Isabelle smiled-Peabo wanted to know the purpose of every piece of equipment on board. She started when someone touched her arm.

"A little jumpy, are we, _cara_," Trestan smirked.

"I don't enjoy you sneaking up on me," Isabelle admonished, pouting, "that is all."

"Is everything well?" Trestan asked, easing his arm around her.

"Of course," Isabelle said without hesitation.

"You are aware that I could hold onto you until you tell me what is bothering you, are you not?"

"Trestan, you are being ridiculous," Isabelle rolled her eyes.

"Am I? I am not the one who seems paranoid: watching my feet to see if my glass slippers are still there, breathing sighs of relief when Peabo is quiet, or looking over my shoulder constantly. It's almost as if you expect someone is following you."

"And it is _you _who believes that _I _am paranoid?" Isabelle said skeptically. "I believe that you are worrying enough for all of us."

"But if something did happen yesterday, while Friar Justin and I were out," Trestan added seriously, "I would like to know of it. Preferably from your sweet little mouth instead of Peabo's. Yet, of course," Trestan said brightly, "you would have told me anything important, _non_?"

"You are being ridiculous," Isabelle said huffily, "of course I would have."

"Good," Trestan said, kissing the top of her head.

Isabelle wondered how soon they would arrive in Lerei; for her, it would not be soon enough. Then Trestan would forget and she would no longer have to lie.

The next morning, Isabelle woke early-sleep had been evasive, uneasy. With a yawn and a stretch she made her way out of the stuffy little cabin and into the cold morning air. Trestan was standing at the prow of the boat; Isabelle had forgotten how very much like a king he had become. He stood taller, straighter, younger since his curse had been broken.

"Good morning, _cara_," he said softly, finally noticing her. Isabelle stood on her tip-toes to kiss him hello. She snuggled closer to him, taking in his warmth. "Welcome to Conradia."

Isabelle gazed at the cliff on the right side of the river and the bank on the left. Olive trees grew in orderly lines while sheep grazed beneath them. The earth was scarlet, the plants were emerald, the sky a sapphire.

"It is beautiful," Isabelle murmured. "You are glad to be back here."

"Yes," Trestan breathed, not taking his eyes from his land. "I am glad."

They arrived in Lerei late that afternoon, paying the captain and disembarking without trouble. The city rested on a hill, made of gleaming white marble, whitewashed stone, and terra cotta. They strolled up the wide cobblestone streets to the palace: Isabelle trying to take in the grandeur and understand how large the city truly was, Peabo turning his head this way and that to try to see everything new and exciting, Trestan with his head held high-a king coming into his own, and Friar Justin calmly leading the way.

When they arrived at the gates of the palace, Isabelle grew nervous: how were they going to get inside? Trestan would hardly be recognized as a prince. She was wearing the ring of Conradia, but her story would hardly be credible. Isabelle was slightly confused when Friar Justin drew one of the guards aside and showed him something small and metallic hidden in one hand. Bribery? That's hardly a way for a friar to behave. But it did succeed-the gates opened and the travelers were allowed into the palace grounds. Isabelle shrugged and followed Trestan along the wide marble steps to the grand entrance of the palace.

Isabelle gasped as she stepped through the arched doorway-crystal and mirrors were everywhere, polished to perfection as were the plate glass windows. The ceiling was painted like a night sky-brilliant stars twinkled down at them. Peabo and Isabelle stood and stared for they had never seen such opulence. Friar Justin and Trestan all but ignored it, in a quiet discussion with one of the stewards.

Not long after, the new arrivals were shuffled through several pairs of elaborate doorways, down hallways, and into what Isabelle guessed was the throne room. A golden chair of elegant curves stood on a dais; in it sat a man who was very much like an older version of Trestan but with black eyes instead of silver.

The King stood suddenly when he realized who had entered the room. With a cry of astonishment, he bolted to Trestan's side and swept him up in an embrace before any of them had a chance to utter a greeting. "My son has been returned to me," the King boomed. "_Gloria in excelsis deo_. Thanks be to God. Welcome home, welcome."

"Thank you, father" Trestan choked, tears streaming down his scruffy cheeks.

"How long has it been since you left, my son?"

"Eight years and twenty-seven days," Trestan said automatically.

His father drew back, doing a double-take. "You are-you…" He sputtered, defeated.

"No, counting is a habit that is hard to unlearn," Trestan said shaking his head.

"It has been too long then. But you return here as a free man, to take up your mantle in our city?"

Trestan simply nodded, too overcome by emotion to speak. Isabelle had never seen him cry before; she stared at him in astonishment, not knowing what to make of it. But now he was free and home and with her and everything would work out, wouldn't it? Isabelle sighed, gaze now fixed on her feet. She would either find a way to lift off her curse, or find a way to make it not matter.

Trestan's father finally turned his attention to Friar Justin. "I see you have found your way back here, like or not."

Isabelle was scandalized for a moment before she realized that these words were spoken in jest.

"Welcome, brother," the King added warmly. "I see you have adopted a vagabond." Peabo blushed. "You too are welcome here."

Isabelle had been standing outside, away from the action. The edges of her heart felt rough, guilty. There was no place here for her in Trestan's new life-he needed someone who could stand by his rule, not blight it with her affliction. Isabelle felt shabby and plain compared to the filigree of the glasswork in the palace and the lush velvet carpeting that she was currently studying, unable to watch any more of the happy reunion that she could not be a part of.

Isabelle was startled out of her reverie by Trestan's hand on her arm; he had remembered her at last.

"Father, this is my savior, _mio tesoro_, my beloved, Isabelle Fernette," Trestan said, sweeping a protective arm around her.

"And how is it that you have become the savior of my son?"

"I am not his savior, rather he is mine, Sire," Isabelle said, curtseying deeply. "I would have died many times over but not for him."

"I am eager then, to hear your stories," the king replied, taking her hand. "I pray that you feel as welcome here as if you were my own daughter, Isabelle. But now you shall all rest and refresh yourselves until supper, for then you shall be able to share your stories all the better for a little food, clothing, and hot water.

The King's steward led them to the private apartments, installing each new arrival in a suite of their very own. Isabelle arrived in hers to find a small sitting room arranged with couches and charming little tables, decked in soft sea-green with a large filigree window that looked out over the palace gardens. As Isabelle stood, awkwardly admiring the lovely room, a woman bustled into the room, a steaming tray of food in her arms.

"Greetings and welcome, _Madonna_," she said crisply. "My name is Caria and you shall be in my charge during your time here, which I hope will be pleasant for you."

"As I hope having such as myself in your charge shall be for you," Isabelle replied dryly. "My name is-"

"Please sit down. And I have heard what your name is, Madonna," Caria said, pointing to one of the chairs. "You insult both my intelligence and the palace gossip to pretend that I didn't know." She thrust the tray in Isabelle's face. "Now, you have the look of one half starved, so eat and we shall exchange pleasantries once you are filled."

Not knowing whether to be abashed, angry, or humorous, Isabelle did as she was told. The olives, cheese, steamy fish with cream sauce, and hard boiled egg were paradise. Not in her whole life had Isabelle eaten so well. Once she was comfortably full, Isabelle was taken by Caria through the antechamber to the garderobe where stood a steaming tub of water.

"Madonna, I mean not to insult your pride, but you must take off your lovely glass slippers before you bathe," Caria said tersely.

Isabelle started-she had not even thought about how she was going to retain her secret. What could she do? What would everyone else do when they saw the silver mist descend and Isabelle grow fur and a tail? "No!" she squeaked. "Caria," Isabelle said, bringing her voice to a more reasonable register, "I will retain my slippers, for it is for I to decide, not you." Isabelle stepped past the astonished servant and into the tub.

Caria, for once, was speechless.

After the bath, Isabelle was dressed in a gorgeous gown of organdy that matched the ruby in her ring. The skirt was draped in cascades that made the skirt alarmingly wide. The flowing sleeves helped to mask how thin winter had made Isabelle, although the bustline was ostentatious enough to slightly augment the problem until Caria made some clever changes to Isabelle's undergarments which Isabelle bore with indifference. It was wonderful to be wearing something beautiful, lush and clean, her hair piled above her head in a mass of curls, and her ears shining with subtle rubies. Isabelle felt like a goddess from the old stories, impossibly beautiful and happy, even though she knew that her wolf-self was only just under the surface.

Once she was ready, Isabelle was escorted to dinner by Trestan, Father Justin and Peabo, none of whom said much on the way to the King's apartment. They were allowed inside by the guard-servants at the doors and ushered into a small dining room. The king entered a moment later, and after Friar Justin blessed their food and they were served, they were left alone.

"I am overjoyed to welcome you all," the King said after a short silence. "My burdens have been lifted, my yoke made lighter. My son, would you care to tell your story of what has occurred since I last laid eyes on you?"

Trestan began his story-Isabelle knew most of it, how he had gone from place to place with several hair-raising near-escapes and many scars to show for them. He had been a lonely man, close to despair, when he had found Isabelle in the castle that night long ago. So much had changed since then, and yet so much was the same-her curse in particular. There were very few details that Trestan left out-but he mercifully skimmed over Isabelle's fits of temper. She was glad of that, but it was rather difficult to relive some of the moments of the past months. But Trestan was home now, and safe.

"And then we arrived here at the palace and were let in," Trestan concluded. "It is wonderful to be home again, Father."

All were silent for a long time.

"You have all walked a barren road, but now may you find comfort in our home," Trestan's father said at long last. "I shall not keep you awake any longer for I see that you all grow weary. But allow me to speak to my new daughter for a moment," Trestan's father said kindly. Still, Isabelle's stomach clenched. But she managed to smile when Trestan met her eyes. The others exited the room, Peabo half-asleep.

"Isabelle Fernette, is all that my son told me tonight true," the King asked solemnly, "every detail was as he had painted it?"

"No, your majesty," Isabelle admitted, "Your son was far kinder to me than I deserve for I have shown him a wicked side of my temper."

The King eyes lit up for a moment. "I have a question to ask of you: are you prepared to become our princess, to be thrown into an arena in which you have no experience, no knowledge, nothing? For the slightest thing you do will be damning to your enemies or shame to your friends. Could you survive the scathing gossips and palace intrigues without losing your head?"

Isabelle thought for a moment. "Your majesty, if I had the strength to survive a winter with no one but a man-bear for company with myself as a half-wolf, than I have the strength to survive any mere palace chatter. But," Isabelle added, resolve breaking, "I am still a wolf-maiden with a pair of enchanted shoes. If this be a strike against me too deep to repair, I shall concede my game for I would not wish to make your son miserable or his enemies glad."

"Your answer is satisfactory, _mademoiselle_," the King replied. "For with a tongue like yours, I should think you shall tame it a little and get on very well here at court. As for your curse, I shall see what can be done, even if I must confront that woman again myself."

"All my thanks, your majesty," Isabelle said, curtseying lower than she had in her entire life.

"No more of that," he said gently helping Isabelle rise. "You are a member of the royal house now, Isabelle. You are welcome. Now, I shall see you in the morning."

"Thank you," Isabelle said, stifling a yawn. "Goodnight."


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **A big thank you to anyone who reviewed! Almost there...

* * *

The next morning, Isabelle woke to find light streaming into her room from all directions. The bedroom's wide window looked out over a small pond in the palace gardens that reflected the sunlight like a mirror. The ceiling was made of translucent marble that glowed yellow as the sun hit it. But even better than the sunlight was the fact that Isabelle's room was decorated with yellow roses-on the bedspread, carved into the headboard, the carpet, painted faintly on the walls. And the best part was the trellis of yellow roses at the window, peeking their yellow blooms inside as if trying to see what was on the other side of the glass.

After a few well-deserved minutes of lounging about, Isabelle emerged from her room to start her whirlwind of a day. She was whisked into her sitting room, given a tray and told to eat by Caria, who had produced a splendid dressing gown of aquamarine silk and had helped Isabelle into it before she had even had the chance to say "good morning." Once she was finished eating, the dressmaker arrived and every bit of Isabelle was measured, down to the length of her little finger. There were some very fine swatches of gossamer fabrics, but Isabelle only caught a glimpse. She hoped that her new wardrobe would not disappoint. After eating more food, Isabelle was allowed to take a nap. Then she was dressed for dinner in a flowing jacquard gown of ecru, with delicate folds and embroidery on the skirt.

"Isabelle, _cara_," Trestan said, entering the room, "you are beautiful."

"I see that I am not the only one who cleans up well," Isabelle grinned, "for you are even more handsome that the last time I saw you, if that is possible."

"You, _mio Tesoro_, are an idle flatterer," Trestan said, taking her arm. "Are you ready to idly flatter all of the nobility as shamelessly as you idly flatter me?"

"I am not ready for this," Isabelle sighed. "I don't know what I am doing, pretending to be a princess. What if I irrevocably damage either or both our reputations?"

"I am sure that they will be so charmed by you that they would not notice if you did a war dance around the dinner table. And you are new to our court and could not possibly have learned all of the rules. Most of them will be quite kind and forgiving and gracious to you. And remember," Trestan added huskily, "you are a wolf, but more importantly, you are mine."

"But I thought," Isabelle said coyly "that _you _were _mine_."

"And this is why I love you," Trestan smirked. "Now let us be off to charm everyone out of their wits."

Dinner was not as bad as Isabelle had been expecting. She made sure to glance around and do what everyone else did, using the all but one of the correct forks in sequence like a seasoned veteran. Still, some training in etiquette may not hurt her. But at least no one had noticed or made a comment on how she had used the fruit knife on the fish.

Once the meal was over, Isabelle was ushered around by Trestan and introduced to everyone in the room in quick succession. Isabelle smiled, curtseyed, and desperately attempted to not only be clever and make conversation but to also remember all of their names.

"Yes, it was lovely to meet you, Count, er _Duke_, Sospirio," Isabelle twittered. "Please pardon me." She made her way back to Trestan's side.

"How are you doing, love?" He whispered.

Isabelle grimaced.

"That poorly, eh?" Trestan said dryly. Isabelle nodded. "I must give you some private tutoring then," he smirked.

"I heard that, my son," the King muttered, rolling his eyes.

Trestan smothered his laughter for the moment. After meeting another thirty people, Isabelle and Trestan managed to sneak away from the festivities.

Once back in Isabelle's sitting room, she sank onto one of the couches, sighing. Trestan joined her a moment later pulling the door shut softly behind him.

"You do realize," Trestan said, with a wistful glance at Isabelle, "that both your reputation and mine would be destroyed if we were caught alone together. I should leave."

Isabelle found this hysterical-not only had she sipped a rather potent wine at dinner, she had also been holding back her giggles for hours. "We were alone," Isabelle panted after her giggling fit had subsided, "in an abandoned castle…for months…. And that. Is. Just. Ridiculous."

Trestan snorted, plopping down onto the couch beside her. "It is rather. Even though I was barely present half of the time."

This set Isabelle off on another fit of giggles. "This is why I love you."

"Why of course," Trestan said tipping her face gently toward his. Isabelle giggled as he kissed her nose, then wrapped her arms around him, kissing him earnestly.

When both of them had lost their breath, Trestan finally pulled away. "You are a little drunk, _cara_."

Isabelle laughed, unable to think up a comeback. The room spun a little, though whether from the wine or the kissing she did not know.

"Get some sleep, _mio Tesoro_," Trestan said gently.

"I'll pout until you kiss me again," Isabelle threatened.

"You shall be pouting then a while, but it will not be long 'til our wedding day."

"Oh," Isabelle said dramatically. "But it _will _be long…"

"Goodnight, Isabelle," Trestan said, reluctantly kissing her forehead.

"Goodnight, Trestan."

Isabelle opened the door that led to her wardrobe and antechambers, startled when she ran straight into Caria on the other side.

"Pardon," Isabelle apologized to her intimidating servant.

"Madonna," Caria said ironically, "It is I who must beg pardon from you. Let me help you out of your dress for the night."

"Yes, of course," Isabelle said, letting Caria lead her into her wardrobe.

"You are interested in a bit of advice, are you not?" Caria said once Isabelle was dressed in her nightgown.

Isabelle nodded warily.

"In this palace, no matter what you may believe and when all evidence is to the contrary, you are never alone," Caria said pointedly.

"Did you hear that whole exchange then?" Isabelle said, outraged.

"Be glad it only was me and not one of the other servants," Caria said, drawing herself up archly.

"My most sincere gratitude for your advice," Isabelle said with as much sarcasm as she could muster. She shut her bedroom door behind her with a satisfying _bam_. The nerve of that servant to insult her to her face!

Isabelle flung herself on her bed, face flushed with indignation. Caria was so blunt sometimes, with no respect for her authority. Isabelle suddenly stopped mid-moan of aggravation. Something had struck her-the last time that she had treated someone in such a manner was when the old woman had confronted her on the road to Fernette Manor. And then she had been cursed with a burden that had changed her entire life. Had Isabelle learned any lesson at all from this?

Isabelle drew in a ragged breath, wiped the tears from her face, and rose from her bed.

"Caria," Isabelle said tentatively. Caria was hanging Isabelle's dress from that evening in the wardrobe.

"Yes, Madonna?" Caria said archly.

"Thank you for the warning you gave me," Isabelle said humbly, "for I have the utmost confidence that you have my best interests in mind. I will be sure to heed your advice in the future."

"Thank you, my lady," Caria said, curtseying low.

The days passed quickly-Isabelle spent them meeting people and trying to remember their names and how to best avoid offending them. She was ushered into a study every morning and taught to read. Although she was not doing anything particularly grueling, she was exhausted all the same by the pre-wedding planning and general whirlwind of activity. Trestan was always busy being briefed on his duties, making up for lost time with a fanaticism that engulfed him. Isabelle had convinced him to take a long honeymoon where he would do nothing but make love to her for several weeks. Then they could return to reality and be taught all they needed to know.

The thing that really taxed Isabelle, keeping her awake in the night even while she was exhausted, was her curse. It was getting so that she could hardly do anything in the afternoons without checking on her slippers to make certain they were still on her feet. Her nightmares were worse than her insomnia, however. She was often a wolf in her dreams, trying to find Trestan in the maze of a palace while avoiding the mob that was coming for her.

But finally the wedding day arrived. Isabelle's family had arrived a week earlier, a surprise from Trestan. Although Marie was terrified of him at first, Trestan drew her out of her shell-now he was the only one she would speak to. He would make a terrific father, Isabelle mused, if only they could survive the wedding.

The day was cold for mid-spring as Isabelle and her father drew up to the cathedral in their carriage just before midday. She had not slept at all the night before. Most of the things she had accumulated in her short stay had been moved to the new royal suite which created a disconcerting emptiness in the room. But the worst part was the anxiety that clamped her stomach so terribly she could hardly stand it.

Isabelle's father did not say much as they alighted from the carriage, nor while they made their way into the nave of the cathedral. But just as the music began, before the heavy oak doors to the sanctuary swung open, Isabelle's father whispered, "You are sure you will be happy then, daughter?"

Isabelle stared at her feet, still encased in their glass slippers, the sole buffer between her and her curse. The curse, the only thing that kept Trestan and her from complete happiness, but then, what did her own happiness matter?

"I'm not sure that _I_ will be happy, but I shall make it that _Trestan_ is," Isabelle croaked, tears beginning to fall behind her gossamer veil.

"You have grown much, Isabelle," her father said, as they stepped into the sanctuary, arm linked in arm. Trestan stood near the altar; Isabelle was now openly weeping. Her heart was being broken more with each step-how could she be doing this to her lover, forcing him to live with her curse? Yet she loved him all the more for standing by her when he could have easily cast her by the wayside.

Isabelle and her father had just reached the altar when someone burst into the room. An old hag was running up the aisle, but as she ran, her ugliness transformed itself into youth and beauty. But it was an artificial thing, stiff, and cold, and lifeless.

"Stop," her voice rang out without need, for everyone had ceased whatever they were doing and were silent, down to the silliest girl giggling in the farthest pew. The crowd was silent, as if frozen in time.

"What mischief do you seek to cause here, Magdalena," the King challenged from where he stood behind Trestan.

"Mischief?" the witch replied, affronted. "I only sought to meter out justice, my old friend."

"Have you not given us enough of your _justice _already?" the King asked distainfully. "You could not have me in our youth therefore take up your grievances with me, not with an innocent woman and man about to be wed. There is none of your _justice _in this."

"No, for my justice is that of a woman scorned," the witch said scathingly. "For I could take your life, but what good is there in that? You would suffer ever more greatly if I took away what you prize most on this green earth: your only begotten son."

"No!" the king cried, but the witch was swifter than a shadow.

She flew, reeking of magic, toward Trestan. Her eyes burned with malice-if they could have shot balls of fire, the Prince would have been but ashes in the wind by now. To her own great surprise, Isabelle darted in front of Trestan, shielding his body with her own.

"Do not hurt him," Isabelle commanded the witch. "Do whatever you like to me: burn me, transform me, slay me, but I will not allow you, while there is breath still in my body, to hurt this man. His life, Trestan's life, matters more than my own."

The witch halted in her tracks, momentarily repulsed, whether by Isabelle's words or her courage, no one knew. Then, enraged, the witch dove at Isabelle, tearing at the girl's feet. Nails like claws dug into Isabelle's skin. The cathedral bells began their crashing _clang! _Isabelle felt first one _(clang!) _then the other _(clang!) _of her enchanted glass slippers being ripped from her feet_. (Clang!) _She stumbled, _(clang!) _catching on to Trestan for support. _(Clang!) _But the witch had other ideas. _(Clang!) _She drug Isabelle away from Tristan_, (clang!) _Isabelle heard something snap in her arm _(clang!). _Pain shot through her body_, _making her eyesight dim_. (Clang!) _The witch swung her around, so they were both facing the people_. (Clang!) _

"This," the witch cried derisively, "is your Princess. See now what she truly is without her artifices, her enchantments," she snuck a glance over her shoulder at Trestan, "her Prince."

The bells gave one last booming _CLANG, _settling over the silent crowd like dust. Nothing happened. No one in the church moved a muscle. It was exactly noon.

Isabelle, mind wreathed in red rings of pain, waited for something, although she was not sure what. When she finally realized what had been missing, she blinked. There had been no transformation._ She was a wolf-maiden no more. _Isabelle opened her mouth to speak, turning to Trestan to tell him the news. Somehow, the room began to spin, spiraling around her vision. The ground rose to meet her and Isabelle was lost in darkness.


	22. Chapter 22The End

Isabelle woke once, briefly, when she felt her arm being wrenched around. She shrieked in pain, then felt nothing. Trestan's face swam at the edges of her vision; he was holding her hand that wasn't a throbbing collection of agony. He was saying something to her, but Isabelle could not understand. Eventually Trestan picked her up, carrying her somewhere else. No matter how careful he was with her, Isabelle was still jostled. He climbed several stairs before Isabelle slipped mercifully back into the darkness.

The roses were still peeking though the window at her; they were the first things she noticed when her eyes finally opened again. It was midday and very warm in Isabelle's little bedchamber. Something massive and dark was at the edge of her vision by the head of the bed. She pulled herself up to sit-a mistake since her right arm gave out on her, bones screaming in agony. Isabelle's breath caught with the pain, but her vision and thinking were free of the wavering red rings that had surrounded them. Gingerly, Isabelle turned to inspect what was near her bed.

Not only was Trestan slouched there asleep, but the King as well, who had just realized she was awake.

"Congratulations, Isabelle," the King said with a wry smile.

"Congratulations?"

"You have defeated your curse, one way or another," the King explained. "You were very brave defending the life of your love from one that had already done you harm."

Pensive for once, Isabelle was silent for a moment.

"She had no power over us that day," Isabelle said, coming to the realization. "Our love was, is, and will be stronger than all of her curses together."

The king stared at her hard. "But what about your bravery that day was different than any of the other times you stood up against Magdalena?"

"I realized for the first time ever that Trestan's life truly matters more than my own. I love him; this means that I would die a thousand times to make him happy."

The king nodded, eyes far away for a moment. "That was something Magdalena never realized," he murmured.

"Besides," Isabelle added vehemently, "she was going after Trestan, to take him away from both me and you. What else could I have done?"

"You had saved him once already. Now we are all doubly in your debt."

"Thank you," Isabelle spurted out. "but what happened to _her_?"

"Once you had swooned, Magdalena, the witch, put on the glass slippers of yours and then tried to attack Trestan. But, alas, her choice in footwear was unfortunate for she tripped and fell on the marble steps near the altar. The glass shoes shattered, and her head was struck open. She died immediately thereafter; she will not be able to throw curses any more."

"I am so relieved," Isabelle sputtered, "I would not wish a curse such as this on my most bitter enemy!"

Isabelle stopped talking and stared for a moment at the King, who stared back gravely. "Please forgive me for speaking my mind, sire…How long was I asleep?" she asked desperately.

"Four days." The King's grave smile cracked and he answered her, laughing. "I shall be honored if you speak your mind to me a little more often, princess."

"Truly?" Isabelle asked incredulously.

"Truly."

At the King's side, Trestan began to stir.

"You do realize that my son has not left your side since your…accident?" The King said lightly.

"Oh, poor Trestan," Isabelle said gently. "It has probably been difficult for him."

"Yes, it has," the King admitted. "I do hope that when you marry, you will at least share the bed instead of making him spend his nights in a chair."

Isabelle giggled, astonished at her future father-in-law's boldness.

"I hope you do not mind me returning the favor of speaking my own thoughts to you," the King smirked.

"Not at all," Isabelle bantered.

"Well in that case, if you are going to be spending all of your time in your room, when you and Trestan were to sequester yourselves away for weeks at a time on a honeymoon, why are we so silly? Why don't we marry you right now and then the rest of us will get a break from their eternal vigil of the two of you?"

Isabelle blushed. Then thought for a moment. It really didn't make sense for Trestan to sleep on a chair and she in a bed being watched constantly when, with a few magic words, they would be able to sleep together alone. And poor Trestan had been waiting an extra four agonizing days for her. Why not?

"Wake up, sleepyhead," Isabelle said, using her good arm to launch a pillow at Trestan.

Trestan jolted awake, nearly falling off his chair. He gaped a Isabelle for a moment. "What? Good morning, _cara_."

"It is actually mid-afternoon," Isabelle said playfully. "Your father has a proposition for us."

They were married at twilight that very evening, in a tiny chapel near the royal apartments. Isabelle wore a simple white gown, her arm put into a sling by one of the palace doctors. As long as she did not move it, it did not pain her. She had survived worse, after all. The only ones able to squeeze into the chapel were Trestan, Isabelle, the King, Peabo, Isabelle's parents and siblings, and Friar Justin, who performed the ceremony himself. The ceremony itself was short for Isabelle still needed support to stand, yet it was sweet all the same. Isabelle left the chapel cradled in Trestan's arms, his ring on her finger and his diadem on her brow. As she was being carried to their royal suite, Isabelle wondered if Trestan had ever walked faster-he was practically running.

"Slow down a little," Isabelle scolded playfully, "We have all night, you know."

"That isn't so, _cara_."

Isabelle stared at him for a moment, confused.

"We have a lifetime," Trestan smiled roguishly at her. "And it begins _now_."

They burst through the door of their new home within the palace. Trestan deftly bolted it behind them, not even bothering to put Isabelle down, kissing her as he dashed to the next door. They continued like this until they reached their master bedroom. Isabelle finally let go of Trestan as he seated her on the bed.

Trestan knelt before her, taking her hand. "Now," he breathed, grave for a moment, "is there anything you would like?"

Isabelle nodded. Curbing her impulse to giggle and say "you! Here, now," she said instead, "A sugar cake and a glass of wine, if you please." She had not eaten much before the wedding, out of nerves and that her stomach was still funny from not being fed much for several days. Trestan departed to some little pantry to fulfill her request while Isabelle glanced around the room. She had never been in their new suite before. The bedroom, done in grass green and gold, had enormous crystal windows that looked out over the city and the sea. Several candles gleamed in sconces, emphasizing the most enormous, downy feather bed upon which Isabelle sat.

In a moment, Trestan was back with Isabelle's request. He sat pensively in a chair nearby, watching as she ate and drank.

"You realize that," Trestan began softly, "I never thought it would be someone as vivacious, and charming and utterly beautiful as you are. When I was cursed, I often imagined finding a woman who would break it, but not even my most vivid imaginings are as wonderful as you. And now, you are flesh of my flesh. Damn me if I know how to take it all in… I have waited so long for this moment, now what do I _do _with it?" Trestan buried his head in his hands, overwhelmed.

Isabelle slid off the bed, set her glass on the table, and settled herself on Trestan's lap. "We shall _live _it," she said, wiping the tears from his cheeks with her fingertips, "together." Trestan's arms tightened around her, drawing her closer to him. "And now," Isabelle added playfully, "I shall pout until you kiss me."

"I would be a fool not to oblige." And he did.

**The End**

**Author's Note: **I have been working on this story for over four years and it is finally FINISHED! I would love to be able to go back and revise the first chapters because I feel that they aren't on par with the rest of the story, but I don't see that happening in the foreseeable future. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. I'm so excited to wrap everything up and be able to head off to start/middle/finish some of my other projects. Thank you so much for all of your patience, kind words, and fanfic love. They mean so much to me. I would especially like to thank my beautiful friend Baroness Orc for betaing and sticking with me even when I was often MIA. I appreciate everyone who has read this, for without you, I would have no where to share this slice of my soul with.

May the Muses be with you,

Pimpernel Princess


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